


Chiaroscuro

by NoShabbyTigers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate sexual contact, Insanity, Mollcroft, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShabbyTigers/pseuds/NoShabbyTigers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has moved on with her life after the fall but fate intervenes in the form of Mycroft Holmes and an unknown threat. Can they negotiate the danger as well as a growing mutual attraction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fanfiction and I have been working on it for three months. Loving the wonderful characterizations created by Mark Gattis and Steven Moffat for “Sherlock”, it was pure pleasure to write. Please forgive minor inconsistencies. I believe I have caught all glaring contextual, technical, timeline and grammatical errors but am sure I missed something. 
> 
> There are actually 22 chapters but not knowing quite how to insert chapter breaks, I decided to publish as is.
> 
> I hope this story finds an audience and you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments, for good or ill, are welcome.

Chiaroscuro

 

_"License my roving hands, and let them go, behind, before, above, between, below...."_

John Donne

 

Chapter 1

Molly looked out her window at the pouring rain that was turning to sleet; another Friday night and nowhere to go and no one to call. Her cat wound sinuously around her feet; an orange blur in the shadows, sensing her mood and wanting to stay close. It had been months since the fall. There had been the expected mayhem afterwards but she quietly continued to go to work, go shopping with her mum and live her dull, little life and no one approached or questioned her. Soon the press went on to the next lurid news story and the dead detective passed out of the news feeds with a barely a whimper.

No one but she and Mycroft Holmes knew the truth. All of Sherlock’s friends mourned him and suffered but only they two carried the burden of the truth; one behind a mask of stony silence and the other behind red eyes and heavy guilt. Sherlock was alive but far beyond their reach and care. She had simply continued and was simply continuing now; alone and alone and alone. How Mycroft was dealing with the loss of his brother she had no idea. He had been brusque, threatening and oddly thankful towards her and then he too left her to herself.

In the end, Sherlock had simply walked away. He had briefly occupied her flat, nursing denial, guilt and resolve. He had been alternately grateful and vicious towards her; sometimes quietly confiding in her and other times lapsing into cold silence or manic criticism. She bore it all as patiently as she could understanding how much it had cost him to lose John, Mrs. Hudson and his life at Baker Street. He was no one now. Dead while still alive - silenced, invisible and alone except for she and his brother. In the end, he held her briefly, kissed her forehead and was gone. She and Mycroft left behind. Poor confidants indeed she thought as she turned from the sleet and the bleak streetscape under her window.

He had been absent for a long time without a single word and even she had started to think of him as gone. Not dead but somewhere as inexorable and silent as the grave. She missed him deeply and had not been really aware of how much he had meant to her. Certainly he irritated her, used her and was often cruel but he had brought excitement and interest to her life which now was far too quiet for her taste. She had loved him too; at first with a school girl, stammering crush and later with a warm and steady friendship. She had given up her fantasy that they would ever be together. She was too good, too normal, and too ordinary for a man such as him. The person she was would have perished in his bright, frantic flame and they would have both ended up hating each other. However, he would have been an awful lot of fun to play with, she mused with a slight smile. If only she could have slept with him without him remembering anything about it. Too late for that now.

She had been afraid for a while, looking over her shoulder and jumping at every sound. The fear was sickening and she lost weight and sleep. But her fears eventually became worry and then disquiet and then as no one threatened her, became nothing at all, background noise to her quiet and lonely life. She knew Mycroft was watching her along with the others and though it dismayed and irritated her, it also provided her with some comfort. The passive eye of the CCTV was on her and though big brother was watching, she found no comfort in the shiny blank lens. Glass and metal were cold and she what she needed was a friend.

Spring was coming and the cold rains and sleet of late February would soon give way to the soft, warm rains of March and April. London would shake off her winter coat and so would she. Her mourning was coming to a close and it was time for her get on with her life. A warm wind would blow, the flowers in the parks would return and Molly Hooper, still alive, would get on with her life. There was work to do, friends to love and a world waiting for her out there. Sherlock was gone and she was finally ready to let him go.

“Enough,” she said, “enough” and left the window and the rain to slip into her solitary bed.

 

Chapter 2

It was finally spring and Molly had started to venture out again into the world. Her old girlfriends slowly welcomed her back to pub nights and book club. They treated her delicately at first worried that Sherlock’s death had somehow broken her but soon relaxed as she seemed to be regaining some of her former joy. She went to the cinema and concerts and museum exhibits and mostly enjoyed them. She had sought out John, Mrs. Hudson and Greg Lestrade, tearfully apologizing for her long absence and promising to stay in touch. She spent less time with her mum and more time doing things for herself that made her happy. She had also met someone. His name was Tom and he seemed nice but they had only gone out a few times and she was unsure.

She worked, of course, there was always work to engage her mind and tire her out. She was sleeping better and no longer took on extra shifts at Bart’s unless it was an emergency or the Yard needed her on special cases. She took those on for herself as well as Sherlock, thinking how much he would have enjoyed the mystery of the suddenly and often violently dead. She gained back some weight and color came back into her face. She chose to remember Sherlock with joy and often founding herself smiling as she walked to work through the streets of London, thinking on how much he would enjoy the sometimes odd and wonderful things she saw as she went on her way. In short, she had decided to be happy and she was.

It was on one such morning, bright with sun and redolent with the perfume of lilacs, that she saw Mycroft again. He was standing on the corner next to his ubiquitous black sedan looking sleek, controlled and dangerous. His face was a mask and no warmth reached his eyes as he looked at her. He channeled a deep anger as if her bright clothing and smiling face was an affront to him and that the last thing he wanted to do was engage with silly little Molly Hooper; sharer of secrets and the person who counted the most to his wayward little brother.

Her light mood destroyed and a quiet fear taking over, Molly continued toward him, heart starting to beat faster and the vague stirrings of panic rising up. Was it Sherlock? Had something happened? Was he hurt? Dead? She felt her eyes widen, her breath quicken and a surge of frantic energy. Her walking pace ticked up and she was now just a half a London block away from the car and the man. Her eyes, sharpened by stress, saw everything; the subtle tap of the impatient umbrella on the sidewalk, the faint twitch of his hand as he grasped the handle and the slight flare of a nostril as he took a measured breath. Her palms started to sweat as she gave herself up to her fear. Only 25 feet from a nightmare, she quickened her pace.

As if in a dream, she saw a nondescript car slip into place beside the black sedan and a dark cab slip in front of it effectively blocking it in. She started running just as he turned, his blank expression changing to one of vague irritation. She and his driver saw the guns at the same time and while the driver drew his weapon to fire she launched herself towards the blur of a navy chalk striped suit.

She heard the crack of gun, then another as she hit Mycroft Holmes broadside with a force that belied her small frame. She felt a burning pain in her side, felt the impact of the sidewalk softened by the bulk of his tall body and heard the quick slap of the umbrella as it hit the sidewalk next to her head. Her world tilted madly, there was a roaring in her ears and she saw his mouth moving but could not make out the words. He was alive and she knew that was good. She felt his fingers, warmer than she thought possible on her wrist checking her racing pulse. Yellow daffodils waving gently in a planter, blue chalk striped suit, the smell of lilacs, spicy aftershave, gunpowder and the rich ferrous scent of blood. She was alive but had been hit by a bullet. Flesh wound she thought hysterically; hurting like hell but survivable if she did not lose too much blood. Organ damage? Oh, bugger she hoped not. Her last conscious thoughts were of her mum, her cat and Sherlock. Wouldn’t he be angry at her for acting like herself (a self-sacrificing mad woman) and getting shot while trying to save Mycroft Holmes?

 

Chapter 3

Mycroft Holmes was furious to the point of incendiary. Stupid, stupid brave woman. What had she been thinking? He was torn emotionally; furious at himself, his people and at her and the asinine set of circumstances that had led to an ambush and shooting on the street. He had failed and Mycroft Holmes never failed. His system would be evaluated, lesser heads would roll and security increased for all of Sherlock’s “assets”.

In the meantime, one of Sherlock’s chief assets, his pathologist Molly Hooper, lay in a hospital bed not more than three feet from Mycroft in an as secure a location he could think of; his flat which consisted of an entire floor of a nondescript and anonymous building in an inconspicuous part of London. One of his bolt holes when travel to his country house was impractical or unwise. Unlike Sherlock, a drafty room off of a ventilation shaft would just not do. He had the means, he had the will, and by god he would be comfortable. Here at the residence he could keep her safe and insure her rapid recovery while he and his people investigated the attack.

Molly was still unconscious but breathing on her own with an IV in her arm replacing the vital fluid she had lost when one of the shots hit her as she arced through the air saving his life. Had she not, the trajectory of the bullet was sure and would have pierced his heart or severed his spine.

BP stable, flesh wound cleaned and stitched and the harsh bruise on her cheek where her skull had impacted the sidewalk blossoming purple and red in the shadows. No concussion but that was uncertain until she woke and could be evaluated. She would heal but the question remained why had she done it? He reached out, unthinking, almost touching her face. What was he doing?

Sitting down in a bed side chair, Mycroft lowered his head into his hands, rubbed his eyebrows and sighed. Sherlock had told him that she was fiercely loyal, often stupidly brave and unflinching in her generosity to her friends. Sherlock had obviously not exaggerated. However, Mycroft was not her friend and had never given her any indication that she was anything else to him besides one of Sherlock’s assets to be guarded and protected but kept safely away at arm’s length. Why had she done it?

He could not shake the image of her, small and delicate, lying injured and bleeding under a lovely spring sky, her blood staining the sidewalk red. She had hit him hard and brought him down without saying a word, her arms akimbo and her brown eyes determined in her small face. No hesitation, no doubt; just a selfless act of pure bravery. Blue sky, small woman, red blood, black car and a lonely and powerful man standing over her hoping she would live.

He had underestimated her that was certain. When he first saw her in the morgue he was not impressed; a small, ordinary woman with a dreadful fashion sense, reeking of morgue and some insipidly sweet shampoo. Brown eyes, fluttering with anxiety, turned-up nose, small breasts and a nervous and uncertain disposition. Educated and professional but depressingly ordinary and obviously and hopelessly smitten with dear younger brother, Sherlock. Pitiful… His opinion of her had not changed until she killed said same brother, mercifully for him, only temporarily. Sherlock told him she was not to be discounted but he had done so anyway, choosing instead to file her under “goldfish”. Now the little Molly had saved his life, how peculiar. “ _And though she be but little, she is fierce_ ”, he mused, looking down on her average face painted by shadows. She merited further study.

The pathologist dealt with, at least for now, his mind turned towards the attack. As if she anticipated his thought his PA, Anthea, walked into the dim room tapping away at her smartphone.

“Gunmen both dead. Plebian criminal backgrounds. Cars traced to an impound lot in south London. No obvious link to any of the regular criminal networks”, she clipped, walking towards him on impossible high heels. “Unusual lack of data leading us to believe it was planned but not overly so. Surveillance of your car not detected but someone was watching and knew where you were going. Motive is unclear other than they wanted you dead or as good as dead. Have you irritated anyone beyond the normal perimeters lately?”

Mycroft sighed in irritation. “Just the usual terrorists, dictators, parliament members and society wives, why do you ask?”

“There is no intel and no ripples in our network. No one has seen or heard anything and as you assert, you have not made any new enemies that you know of. “ _Curiouser and curiouser_ ”…”

“Alice will be of no help here, I’m afraid. Keep working on it, I need to know who wanted me dead and who hurt Miss Hooper.” Mycroft shook his head and pursed his lips.

“Yes, sir, where will you be if we find anything?”

“Here. Right here”

 

Chapter 4

Molly stirred and her eyes fluttered open. She had been shot, that much she remembered. Mycroft had been in the line of fire and she had acted without thinking, racing towards him and knocking him to the ground. Her recall went muzzy after that except for the odd memory of the smell of lilacs, sandalwood and gun powder and the touch of his warm fingers on her wrist.

Dim in here and quiet. Not the hospital that was certain. Faint light bled from between closed curtains. Late afternoon? She was in what appeared to be a large bedroom with an en suite lavatory. Deep carpet covered the floors and the room was done in a quiet combination of greys and ambers. Expensive and exclusive and furnished with expensive antiques and art. Pools of light defined the space selectively and the effect was quite pleasant. Definitely not a hospital.

She moved gingerly and noted that though she hurt it was buffered by what she assumed were pain meds. Not too great a dose given her clear head. Was that why she was so calm? She was hooked to an IV threaded into a vein in her left hand. Saline and something else? Perhaps an antibiotic? She lifted her decidedly non-regulation hospital gown and examined the bandage on her left side. No blood and she assumed a clean wound and several stitches. She would live and assumed the bullet had missed all necessary parts. She would have a scar but that was a small matter. The machines monitoring her vitals started to beep and a door opened to a uniformed nurse.

“Miss Hooper, you are awake. I will get Mr. Holmes.”

“Wait...” she said to the nurse’s retreating back. “Just what I need, bloody Mycroft Holmes.” she muttered.

Mycroft entered the room and approached the hospital bed. He looked odd to Molly and it only took her a moment to realize that he was not wearing his usual three piece wool armor. His collar was open and he wore a charcoal grey cashmere sweater over a pale grey shirt and corduroy slacks; pressed corduroy slacks but corduroy slacks none the less. He looked nice. His face was soft, tired and watchful; younger looking too. Human after all, how unusual. He walked to the head of the bed and stood over her.

“Miss Hooper, you have once again taken me by surprise. You seem to have a propensity for saving lives while risking yours. However, taking a bullet for the British government was highly uncalled for. How do you feel, my dear?’ He reached out and gently encircled her wrist with his fingers.

Molly started at his touch and did her best not to pull away. Why was he touching her? He had barely deigned to talk to her before. She was hurt but not that hurt. She had assumed she had prevented him from getting shot but she had expected censor and sarcasm from him, not this gentle care.

“Heart rate increase, slight flush, eyes dilated. Miss Hooper, are you frightened of me?” Mycroft tipped his head and looked at her more closely.

“Noooo”, Molly stuttered, wishing he would let go and trying to assess her deep visceral reaction to his touch. He was Mycroft sodding Holmes and yet his touch brought comfort and feelings that were unexpected. Not good, not good at all. Was she that drugged that this sleek predator of a man was attractive to her?

“You have been here almost 48 hours. I have taken the liberty of supplying you with a few items of clothing and some toiletries to see you through your visit here. Your clothing and bag were soaked with blood and disposed of. Your personal belongings were saved and now reside in the leather bag at your bedside. Replacement clothing has been provided. Your work has been informed and I have let John Watson, Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade know that you are in safe hands. Your phone is charged and working and you have received multiple messages from your mother, your friends and a man named Tom. I apologize for reviewing your messages but I wanted to insure that you had not been contacted by any unusual people and that your location remained secure. Please use this phone to contact them” he said, handing her a cheap, pre-paid cell phone. “Your phone was not secure and although your messages were monitored they remain in an unopened status.” He paused, “You were shot after all which is not a common occurrence, even on lovely spring day in London.” He smiled tightly at her and released her wrist.

“Well, ah, thank you, Mr. Holmes. I guess I should answer my e-mails and try to calm my mother down. Oh dear, what about Toby? He’s my cat and has been left alone…” Mycroft raised his hand, stepped over to another door and cracked it open. A flash of orange flew through and leapt up on her bed. “Toby!” she cried as she gathered the cat into her arms. “Oh, thank you so much, how did you…?”

“I know a great deal about you, Miss Hooper. More than you are probably comfortable with and I realized you would be worried about your cat. My assistant coaxed him into a carrier with some tuna and though he was not pleased, he seemed to relax once he arrived here.” Mycroft smiled again and this time his smile reached his eyes. “For some reason he has attached himself to me and though he is not an unpleasant creature, his fur leaves much to be desired.”

Molly chuckled softly. Toby liking Mycroft was amusing indeed.

“I am glad you are entertained by your cat’s fascination with my person. Miss Hooper,” he said stiffly, looking slightly more like himself. “May I please continue?”

“Your full recovery and your personal safety is important to me as well as to our absent friend. I promised him that I would take care of you. I have called in the best medical staff and if you rest they assure me you will be home within 48 hours. Until that time, you are my guest in my house and I wish for you to make yourself at home.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t possibly…”

“Yes, you can Miss Hooper”, he said suddenly turning stern. “We have much to talk about before you leave me and return to your life. I want you to be safe and I want you to be well and to achieve that end, I need time. Indulge me and I promise you will be home soon. ”

“I have things that must be attended to. There is a call button to your right. Should you need anything, please press it and my staff will see to it. It is now almost 7:00 P.M. and you need your rest. I will be back tomorrow and we can talk if you are up to it.”

“Thank you, I would like that. I have so many questions. And, Mr. Holmes…” she said, looking up at him with a shy smile, “I am glad that you are still alive.”

Mycroft inclined his head. “As am I; thank you, my dear. Without your spontaneous and rather reckless interference that may not have been the case. Now, get some rest and I will see you later. Oh, if I could make a suggestion, you should tell your mother and your friend Tom that you were called out of town for work and will be back in a few days. That is the official cover story at Bart’s. A small lie, yes, but again, it is for your safety. ”

Molly watched him as he turned and silently left the room. How could Mycroft Holmes seem “nice” to her? He was Mycroft Holmes, Mr. Scary, snarking, government drone who had always made her uneasy. Nemesis of Sherlock although she had always been sure he had exaggerated how awful Mycroft was. A gentleman yes, but a gentle man, no. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. Stroking Toby she picked up her phone and started to lie.

 

Chapter 5

Mycroft looked up from his pad and shook his head. Almost 1:00 A.M. and there had been no progress from his people on who was behind the ambush. He was tired, so tired. Rising from his chair, he stretched with his hands on the small of his back. Getting old and soft, he thought. At least not fat, in spite of Sherlock’s obsession with teasing him about his weight. Old, not fat, but slow. How had he not seen the ambush coming? He had been so focused on his day, his schedule and a silly absent friend update for Molly Hooper that he allowed himself to be distracted and almost paid with his life. She had almost paid with her life which was far less acceptable. Who was after him? Infuriating.

Brushing a flurry of cat hair from his lap, he went to the window. Still and foggy and deceptively peaceful. Why did her infernal cat decide that his rooms were the next best thing next to his mistress’s bed? He had to admit the creature was warm and its purring had a calming effect on him but why on earth did it have to shed so much and why was it just the perfect color to turn his dark slacks into a marmalade mess? Gone for now and he hoped it did not return. He carefully closed the all of the doors; another good reason to get them both out of here and safely home as soon as possible. Note to self: Lint brush and graceful but firm exit strategy required.

What had possibly motivated her to put herself in harm’s way for him? He had never treated her with anything but indifference before or grudging gratitude after the fall. She was Sherlock’s pet and an odd choice she was. Stuttering, blushing, loyal and ferocious Molly Hooper. He had let down his guard with her last night which was not advisable. Why did he bring her here for goodness sake? There were a legion of safe houses scattered around London and he brings her to his favorite bolt hole? Sentimentality was a wasted emotion and caring was definitely not an advantage. Correction: Old, not fat, slow and getting soft in the head.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He had a headache coming on due to lack of sleep. He could not shake the image of her lying bleeding on the street and then unconscious in the room upstairs. Sherlock all over again… He had ordered damage control of the scene and a quick clean up and instructed Anthea by phone to install Miss Hooper in his home with the best medical support available. She hesitated slightly as if in surprise but then did exactly as he requested. He should have listened to that tell-tale hesitation and changed his mind.

Miss Hooper’s physical presence had woken feelings he had thought long since dead - concern, protectiveness and desire to make things better for the small pathologist. He was grateful to her, of course, for saving Sherlock and now his sorry skin but to what end? These feelings he had were dangerous, both for himself and Miss Hooper. He could not afford to be distracted by taking care of yet another person. Sherlock, with his conflicted anger at his older (and smarter) brother and his dangerous and clandestine mission to take out Moriarty’s empire was distraction enough.

He would talk to her about Sherlock tomorrow, issue her instructions and as soon as she was well, remove her from his proximity.

Closing the curtains and turning out the light, Mycroft went to his solitary bed. “Enough’, he sighed, “enough now.” Mind spinning he sank into a fractured sleep haunted by red blood on a sidewalk and brown eyes in pain.

 

Chapter 6

Molly woke the next morning feeling much better and last night the doctor told her she would be clear to get up, get dressed and start moving about. The IV was gone and though she was still on a light dose of oral pain meds and antibiotics, there was no infection and her prognosis was good. Her wound was superficial but she still needed rest and time to heal. The calls the previous night had gone fairly well and her mother was placated but Tom was not convinced, suspecting with good reason that her absence had something to do with Sherlock. Well, it did have something to do with a Holmes, just not the normal one. Molly snorted to herself. As if Sherlock was normal?

She sighed as she dressed herself in a pair of brushed denim jeans and an oversized tunic allowing for easy movement. How had he known her sizes? Oh wait, his minions had probably tossed her flat and now knew everything from her birth control brand to her guilty predilection for cheese crisps. The clothes were designer labels, natural fabrics and quietly understated quality; way out of her normal price range but most things were. She had been frugal and cautious with her money and had the means to buy nice things for herself but had never taken the time to do so. Books and art were another matter and her small apartment was filled an eclectic collection of both.

She was stiff and her face was a site. She must have hit Mycroft and then the sidewalk pretty hard. She had never been really pretty, but it was just as well that she was hidden away from the world for now. Several scrapes and a spectacular bruise covered most of her right cheek. The swelling had gone down but the bruise was deep and just starting to yellow around the edges. “Just lovely” she muttered to herself as she leaned in closer to a mirror to examine the damage.

She carefully washed her face and made plans to shower later after her dressings were removed. The toiletries were all first class as well with sumptuous soaps and gels in a heady blend of sandalwood and spice. The aroma was both calming and arousing and it seemed as if she had smelled it somewhere before. Her eyebrows creased as she remembered the street and the shooting and her mad rush at Mycroft. His aftershave! He must have these soaps custom made as the scent was distinctive and definitely not available at Tesco or the neighborhood chemist shop. Definitely self-indulgent, Mr. Holmes, she thought, smiling to herself. A closet sensualist? How surprising and unexpected. Ugh, why was she thinking such things about Mycroft Holmes? She shook the thoughts away, loosely plaited her hair into a side braid and deemed herself ready for the day.

She moved to the window and opened the sheers to look out on a damp, grey day. The building had an open atrium layout which was unusual for London and the central courtyard was graced by a decorative garden and several seating areas. It was open to the sky and was a surprise for such a plain building; a natural refuge hidden from the world. Spring flowers were blooming below and perhaps she would go out for some air later if the rain held off. Looking down, she observed Toby looking very lion-like as he watched the birds from under a not so small tree. He will never want to go back to our flat after his upscale urban adventure, she mused.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. An older woman entered with a tray of tea and an assortment of baked goods which she set on a small table near the window.

“Mr. Mycroft is asking to join you. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“Ah, yes, certainly. I am ready.”

Mycroft swept into the room, armor fully in place and his face once again a neutral mask. She was strangely saddened by his formal attire but obviously this was not a holiday and they had much to discuss. Navy had been replaced by a sober grey pinstripe. All business today, she thought as she sat down across the small table from him. She smiled but received no smile in response.

“I will pour, Miss Hooper. How do you take your tea?” “Cream with two sugars, please.” She winced slightly and blushed when Mycroft wrinkled his nose but complied with her request. What is so irritating about how I take my tea? What is with him this morning? He poured himself a cup, cleared his throat and began.

“Miss Hooper, the first thing I need to tell you is that our absent friend has been in touch and is doing as well as to be expected. He contacted me anonymously via a secure number and in code. This is the news I sought to convey to you the day we were so inconveniently attacked. Looking back, I should have simply come to the morgue but then perhaps even more people would have been hurt.”

Molly had been holding her breath and let it out in a huff. “Thank goodness he is all right. I have been so worried about him.” Mycroft again looked uncomfortable for some reason. Did he resent her friendship with Sherlock?

“The second thing I need to tell you is that my people have traced the cars, identified the shooters but the trail has gone cold. There is no indication that this was an act of the Moriarty network but it is still within the realm of possibility. Security on all of Sherlock’s friends has been increased to level 3, yourself included.”

“Oh, OK… Is that really necessary? Jim Moriarty is dead.” She said as she sipped her tea and nibbled on a scone.

“Yes, it is necessary. Dead or not his people are still out there though it is interesting they had the temerity to attack me. Foolish and out of character.” His shook his head in disbelief.

“Thirdly, you seem to have reached a place in your recovery where it is best you return home and resume your normal activities. Your cover story at Bart’s has you returning to work on Monday and so I have arranged transport back to your flat for you and your cat early tomorrow morning. I am sure you are anxious to return home and get back to your life.” He sipped his tea and avoided her eyes.

“Finally, I would like to thank you for saving my life. Although you acted in a stupid and precipitous manner, you have come to no great harm. I owe you and shall defend your life with mine if I must. Now, why did you do it and what do you want?”

“What do you mean, why did I do it? I couldn’t just stand by and risk you being killed. Sherlock would have been devastated if anything had happened to you. He loves you though he has odd ways of showing it. I don’t want anything. Thank you for taking me in and taking care of me but I want nothing else from you. How could you even think that?” She paused before asking in a quiet voice, “Don’t you think you were worth saving?”

Mycroft’s face tightened even more and she detected a burning anger starting to rise in his face. Why was he angry? What had she done?

“Everyone wants something, Miss Hooper, and I am sure you are no exception. It is odd that your sentimentality over Sherlock has extended to me but again, I am grateful. I have a great deal of money and power at my disposal. So, what do you want?”

Molly shook her head. The officious prig was back with a vengeance.

“Nothing”, she sighed as she felt the heat rising to her face. “I had thought we might be friends and meet and now and then for tea. Only you and I know about Sherlock and it would help me to talk sometimes.”

Mycroft looked at her with a stony gaze and then averted his eyes from hers and spoke towards the wall. He lifted his chin and spoke with a grim and terrible calm.

“I am afraid that will not be possible, Miss Hooper. I am grateful but I neither need nor want a “friend” as you so charmingly put it. I have nothing to say to you and I have no interest in your life aside from your connection to my dear sweet and absent brother. Just like him, alone protects me and all of the people around me. No, we can never be “friends”.

Molly felt the tears rising in her eyes and looked away, not catching the miniscule twitch in his cheek as he lied to her. How stupid could she really be? What would Mycroft Holmes want with her?

“All right, I will be ready to leave in first thing in the morning.” Her voice shook slightly but she held her head up though her hands twisted in her uncomfortably in her lap.

“Good. I have a full day and will be gone until late this evening. It is doubtful we shall see each other before your departure in the morning. Please avail yourself of the library and garden and let the staff know if you require anything. Good morning, Miss Hooper.”

And with a dismissive flick of his hand, he rose and exited the room not looking back.

Molly sniffed for a moment, blew her nose and then burst into tears. What a silly, stupid woman she was to think that lord muck Mycroft Holmes might want to be her friend. He had given her a brief glimpse of the human inside the machine but the armor was back on and she was nothing but another asset on a list. The day would pass and tomorrow she was going home. He did not care about her as much as she wished he did and she would not let him hurt her. So be it. She would be fine.

While Molly wept and tried to get a hold on her emotions, Mycroft swept down the hall and around a corner before pausing and leaning against the wall, the morning sun incongruous with his dark mood . He closed his eyes, raised his chin and breathed. He had been cruel but it was for the best. Getting any closer to Molly Hooper would be a critical error and they would both regret it. Still, he wished he was the man who could take the hurt from her eyes. However, he was not that man and she would not want him even if he were. Her heart was with Sherlock and on that level he could not compete. He straightened, tugged at his waist coat, put on his mask and went to work. All for the best in spite of the pain.

 

Chapter 7

Molly had a rough night with little sleep. She looked haggard and troubled as she gazed in the mirror, the work of months erased in five short days. Home would be good. She could cuddle up in her favorite recliner, eat cheese crisps until she was sick and punish herself with crap telly or a badly written romance novel. It was little wonder the Holmes boys smoked, she thought; nothing like a little self- destructive behavior to brighten one’s day. Time to get over the hurt, time to get over being shot and time to delete Mycroft sodding Holmes off of her decent people list. Weekend ahead and work on Monday. Maybe she would bake cookies too. A real pity party, that’s what she needed.

She packed some of the clothes that had been provided for her though she left the balance behind. Not being able to help herself, she slipped some of the sandalwood soap and shower gel into her bag. She wanted it as it would remind her of him but was sure she would regret it as the scent in her lonely apartment would drive her mad. Not the last thing she would regret, not yet anyway. Self-defeating if not self-destructive, Molly Hooper. She did one final check to make sure she had not forgotten anything. Where was Toby? She had looked everywhere for him but he remained stubbornly invisible.

There was a knock on the door. The older woman who had brought tea the day before told her that her car was ready. Molly thanked her, grabbed her new leather bag and a small tote with her clothes.

“I can’t seem to find my cat and don’t want to leave without him.”

“No worries, Miss. The staff will hunt him up and return him to you later today. He will be just fine, I promise. He is quite the dickens and has quite bedeviled Mr. Mycroft. The staff is highly appreciative.” The woman said, smiling.

Molly smiled thinly back at her. Mr. Mycroft indeed…

Not comfortable with leaving Toby but resigned, she left her room and headed towards the stairs. Just she was about to descend, her bag fell off of her shoulder and she winced as she bent to pick it up.

“Stupidly independent, I see” said Mycroft who walked up beside her taking the clothing tote. “I pay my staff well, Miss Hooper, you should have wrung for assistance. You could easily re-open your wound through your stubbornness.”

Molly was silent, acknowledging him only with a brief nod and looking away quickly. His eyes told her she looked like hell. She sincerely hoped that he felt like hell if he was capable of that much emotion. Pity party started already, how not fun for her.

“I have heard your orange friend has gone missing. I assume he is in my closet making sure to cover everything I own with his fur so I do not forget him. Never fear, he will be caught and brought to justice and them promptly returned to your flat”

Molly nodded but still did not look at him. He had wanted to avoid her this morning but couldn’t help himself and had obviously failed. Mycroft was shocked by how diminished she looked. Had she taken his dismissal that hard? She barely knew him, what difference would it make to her that they could not be “friends”. He felt a tug of conscience but quickly tamped it down. The decision had been made and so it must remain. It was better for both of them.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and passed through several spacious rooms before reaching the back entry where two black cars were waiting. Anthea was also waiting, tapping away at her smart phone, a picture of efficiency.

“Yours is the second car, sir. The first is reserved for Miss Hooper. Her flat is secure and the security team and cameras will be installed later today. A reminder, you are due at Downing Street within the hour.”

Mycroft paused and looked at Molly noting the dark circles under her eyes and what he perceived as residual pain from her wrenching her wound. “Send the first car back. Miss Hooper will need some assistance so I will accompany her back to her flat to make sure she is settled without further harm”

Anthea cocked a perfect eyebrow at him questioning his decision and probably his motive.

“I will not be late to Downing Street if we leave right now and duty compels me to discharge my duty to Miss Hooper.”

“Oh, you don’t have to…I can handle things… Duty?” Molly stuttered.

He cut her off. “Please do not argue, Miss Hooper, or I _shall_ be late to Downing Street.”

Molly dropped her head and studied the sidewalk as he handed her into the car. His hands were still warm if not his manner. Mycroft got into the back seat with Molly, her bag between them. A wave of sandalwood wafted to her across confines of the car and she felt her eyes pricking with tears. She must retain control. A sobbing fit would not further endear her to him though he probably deserved it.

The first car, driver in place, started off with their car close behind. They slowed as they reached the first turn and the front car signaled to turn left.

Mycroft looked at her profile and could see she was struggling for control. “Miss Hooper. I…”

Molly cut him off abruptly. “Stop it! Don’t you be nice to me.”, she said shortly. “If you are nice to me I will cry and I don’t want to cry over you. You are just as bad as your damned brother but you are older and should know better. I don’t…”

Before she could finish her sentence, a bright flash followed quickly by the sound of a massive explosion rocked the car. The first car evaporated, debris starring their windshield and violently rocking their car. In her shock, Molly thought that it looked just like a car explosion in a film; flame and noise and metal raining down. She barely had time to process the scene in front of her when she was yanked across the seat and pressed flat to the floor of the car. Mycroft barked at the driver to drive on and thumbed his smart phone.

“Anthea, emergency scenario 9! Re-directing to fox hole. Evacuate and lock down the residence. You know where to go. I shall contact you as soon as I can. Maintain silence until further notice. Driver, pattern M! Now!” Mycroft hit the kill switch on his cell phone, rolled the window down and threw it as hard as he could into the street where it shattered into pieces.

Molly struggled beneath him, breathing hard and fighting off a panic attack.

“Stop, Molly, stop.” he barked looking down at her. “Get yourself under control. We are in route to a safe place.” She appeared to be hyperventilating and softening slightly he took her face in his hands. “Look at me, Molly, look at me. You are safe. I am with you. We are on our way to a secure location. Calm yourself. I will not let anything bad happen to you. I promise.” He was crushed against her covering and protecting her with his body. His face was a mere inches from hers. He looked focused and grim but calm.

She stopped struggling, calming under his touch. “The driver” she cried, “We must help the driver. We can’t just leave him.”

“My people will attend to him and the scene. Now lay still, Miss Hooper or I shall be forced to restrain you further and it will be unpleasant for us both. We will change cars in less than thirty minutes but until that time we are vulnerable. This car is armored but so even it is no match for a rocket grenade.”

“A rocket grenade? she squeaked. “Is that what hit the other car?”

“No, I suspect something more pedestrian but just as deadly. Probably C-4 from the speed and power of the explosion. We must go to ground and I am afraid your flat is out of the question. Do you have your cell phone?”

“Yes, it’s in the leather bag with my wallet and stuff.”

“Can you reach it from where you are? “

“Yes,” she rolled a bit and dragged the bag from underneath her. She found the phone and gave it to Mycroft who rolled down the window and threw the phone into the street where it broke into pieces.

“Sorry, but it could be tracked and we cannot take any chances.”

Molly looked up at him and started to cry, the strain of the last four days clearly showing in her brown eyes. “I just want to go home…” she wailed. “Damn you and damn Sherlock! I just want to feel normal and safe. What is going on? Why is someone trying to kill you?”

Mycroft adjusted his weight, looked down at her and felt a surge of compassion. She would not like what he was about to say. “Someone did try to kill me, Miss Hooper, and thanks to you they failed. However, I am afraid this time someone has tried to kill _you_.”

 

Chapter 8

The next three hours were a blur to Molly and there was no time or opportunity to process the attempt on her life. They met Mycroft’s contacts and changed vehicles at least twice. Mycroft’s cell phone was replaced and he was tapping away it running the British government or something and ignoring her. Their last transfer had been to an anonymous and closed panel van so she had no idea where they were.

At least the first leg of the ordeal had been relatively short and she was now sitting across from him. Mycroft leaping on her been a bit overwhelming but also strangely comforting. His proximity and physicality had been intimate and disturbing. Blushing and trying not to wiggle, she forced herself to go to her calm zone and relax. As if aware of her discomfort, he too limited his movement and did his best to ignore her. He was a gentleman and he had protected her in a bad situation. Thank goodness that was over, she thought, stretching her legs as best she could.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was slightly taller than Sherlock; softer and strung looser. Not as striking as Sherlock either; thinning dark red hair, pale complexion and steely blue grey eyes. His hands, like Sherlock’s, were long tapering and quite beautiful. Languid while his brother radiated nervous energy, he exuded control and subdued power. He had displayed vestiges of warmth and humanity to her beneath his armor. Take away his fierce intellect, his cutting manner and expensive suits and he might almost be a regular guy. Well maybe not…he was a Holmes after all.

Molly was exhausted, hungry and worried. Now that the initial shock of almost being blown up had past, she felt empty and beyond tired. She wanted to go home but that was now impossible. Her eyes felt scraped and her side ached and she wanted to lie down. Not possible right now in the back of the panel van with unpadded steel bench seats and a bad suspension. Mycroft sat opposite of her still and even he had started to look frayed. He had been texting and taking calls almost non-stop but was now leaning back, eyes closed just thinking. She did the same trying to get comfortable though she was cold and stiff.

Opening his eyes, Mycroft assessed her condition, rose and took off his suit jacket. “Here, put this on. It will keep you warm until we arrive, it won’t be long now.” She took the jacket gratefully with a small smile, “Thank you” she said. The jacket was soft and warm and smelled just like him and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.

Mycroft gently shook her awake. “Molly, we have arrived.” The van had stopped, the double doors were open and she smelled old grease, electrical parts and dust.She looked up at him muzzily, blinking in the dim light.

“OK, let me get my stuff.” She picked up her shoulder bag and handed Mycroft her tote. “Thanks…” She looked like a child dressed in her Da’s clothing he thought as he took in the site of her in his jacket; face creased with sleep and eyes heavy.

They scrambled out of the back of the van into what appeared to be a garage and warehouse. The roll up door through which they had arrived was closed and the space was cavernous. Piles of old car parts, machinery and office furniture from a different era was littered about. There were tracks across the ceiling from which large engine hoist hooks hung; overall an abandoned and cheerless space.

Anthea walked across the broad floor to meet them. She looked hard at Mycroft and gestured to him to him to approach. She bent her head close to his and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened and he looked at Molly with concern and what appeared to be deep compassion.

She looked at him, instantly awake, her voice rising. “Oh no, no, no…Has something happened to the others?”

He approached her cautiously as if he thought she may detonate. “No, the others are fine. Unfortunately, it appears that your flat has been fire bombed and most of your block is on fire. Three people have been killed and there are several more missing. I am so sorry.”

Molly looked at him in disbelief, felt herself go numb and grey spots danced in front of her eyes. A high keening sound came from her that made Mycroft dart forward in alarm. She was going to faint and she had never fainted, not even working with the most grisly corpses imaginable. Oh god, her world was coming to an end, again. Mycroft caught her as she fell and easily swung her into his arms. She was so small, so delicate and her nightmare was only beginning. He tenderly brushed an errant hair from her face and turned to Anthea.

“Damage control. I want our best on this and I want information. Do it now. This is intolerable and has taken much too long already.” Anthea nodded at him and started tapping out commands on her phone. She paused for a moment and looked at him with something resembling sympathy in her face.

“Sir, please tell Miss Hooper that her cat has been found and was evacuated from the residence along with the staff. It may mean something to her when she wakes up.” Anthea looked quickly at Molly and then looked away as if embarrassed.

“Thank you, Anthea, it is good of you to think of Miss Hooper. She has a horrific week and it is not over yet. She will appreciate a bit of good news.” Mycroft smiled grimly at his assistant and glanced down at Molly. Turning his back, he walked across the echoing space, through a double door and into the fox hole.

 

Chapter 9

The foxhole was one of a myriad of hidden WW2 bunkers that were scattered across the UK. Used for protection of government officials and communication and military intelligence activities, most of these bunkers were now known and some were even tourist attractions. The fox hole was on none of the public lists and was known only to a select few in the upper levels of the government.

Made up of a warehouse, machine shop on the 1st floor and a complex of five rooms including a bunk room, a private bedroom, mess, an office and a lavatory on the lower level, the fox hole was bomb proof and had several secret escape tunnels that lead to various locations around London. The bunker had not changed greatly since 1945 and still retained its WW2 character with non-functioning Bakelite phones and massive, old oak desks. However, appearances were deceiving and the bunker had first class security and telecommunications systems. Seldom used due to its Spartan character, it was none the less a safe harbor for those on the run.

God he hated field work, thought Mycroft as he entered the space. Cramped quarters, mediocre scotch and no natural light. He though longingly of his soft bed, books, garden and quiet elegance of his town residence. Would that this be over soon so he could return to his regular and comforting patterns. Change was inevitable but was also disorienting and he did feel he was “ _slightly drunk and tossed in a blanket_ ”. Nothing like Dorothy L. Sayers to provide a suitable description for the vagaries of life. He could only imagine how Miss Hooper felt; wounded and now homeless. Nothing left of her former life but she and her cat.

He nudged the door of the single bedroom open with his foot using the light from the open. Two metal framed double beds were on opposite walls. Choosing one, he gently placed Molly down on its woolen coverlet, stowed her bag and tote underneath and sat on the edge of the bed looking at her in the dim light. She needed some rest and he needed to get back to work.

Her tired yet peaceful face reminded him of tucking Sherlock up when they were younger. In those days, Sherlock adored him, followed him everywhere and insisted that Mycroft tuck him into bed whenever possible. So much had changed and his relationship with Sherlock had deteriorated soon after Mycroft went to boarding school. Looking down at the small pathologist, he felt a wave of nostalgia and tenderness and regret. His eyes filled slightly remembering a happier time long gone. He shook his head and at the same time, shook off the unwanted feelings. He had neither the time nor the luxury to wallow.

He started to rise when he was surprised by the grip of small fingers on his arm. “Don’t leave me, please…”she said quietly, her eyes once more brimming with tears. When he did not resist her touch she pulled him down to her on the bed, their faces close. She said nothing but rolled against him, laying her head on his chest and tucking it under his chin. He slipped his arm under her head and pulled her to him. Her arms stole around him and he did nothing to stop her. The only sound in the dim room was their quiet breathing. She was warm and small and she smelled good; her own clean scent mixed with sandalwood soap. He relaxed, really relaxed for the first time in days and let his eyes close. So tired…

*******

Molly woke and instantly froze, her head on Mycroft’s chest, his arm fixed protectively around her. She remembered reaching for him and asking him to stay but had never believed he would. She started to ease away from him when he spoke without opening his eyes.

“It’s all right, Miss Hooper” said Mycroft “you have neither abused my person nor my high opinion of you. In fact, your closeness was quite pleasant and allowed me to relax as well. I thank you.”

Molly blinked in surprise but nodded. He had a high opinion of her? She had helped him relax?

She sat up quickly detangling herself from him and scooting a safe distance away. “Sorry, so sorry. I just couldn’t bear being alone.”

Mycroft sighed and looked at her, almost sad. “Do not look so surprised, Molly, I am human, in spite of what my dear brother says. I get tired, I need human contact and I can care; it’s just that I try not to let myself as the emotions can cloud my judgment. It is also a self-defense mechanism against hurt. I am not an easy person and I often drive people away. Some have even said that I am toxic. Also, I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have the criminal underbelly of the UK or the PM think I am going soft, can I? ” He smiled depreciatingly.

“Oh…” breathed, Molly, again surprised. She liked this more accessible version of Mycroft Holmes. She liked his smile - it softened his stern face and actually reached his eyes. Perhaps they might be friends after all once they got through all this.

“Our situation is uncomfortable but we should be safe here. You have been asleep for approximately an hour and our situation is stable. There has been limited data coming in from the outside and no new developments on the car bombing investigation except for the fact it was C-4 and was detonated via cell phone signal. None of your close friends have been hurt and the fire on your block is under control. Death toll remains at three but at least two others are in the hospital in critical condition due to smoke inhalation. Your flat and its contents were totally destroyed. I am so sorry, Molly.”

She sat up, dry eyed, grateful for his tone. “I understand. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet but it will. Those poor people…”

“You have been brave and strong throughout this ordeal and you will get through this as well. It is not your fault these people are dead. The perpetrators will be found and brought to justice, I promise you that. Unfortunately we are stuck here for the time being while the investigation continues. Scotland Yard is now involved and I am afraid that Inspector Lestrade and your friends and family cannot be told that you are safe. It cannot be risked in spite of their worry. Again, I am sorry, Miss Hooper.”

“Molly, Mr. Holmes, please call me Molly. My mother is going to kill me when she finds out I am not dead, my friends will no longer be speaking to me and I will no longer have a prospective boyfriend. Just a typical day with the Holmes brothers…”

She shrugged and stood up straighter. “I guess we are really in this together now. I could understand why someone might come after you, but why me? I am of no importance at all except for my role in Sherlock’s death. Wouldn’t they have struck right away if it were part of Moriarty’s network? I have been living and working in the open ever since the fall and have noticed nothing.”

“Yes, it is a conundrum; one that needs to be solved soon to allow us to go back to our respective lives. By the way, Miss…Molly, Anthea wanted me to tell you that Toby is safe and staying with Mrs. Carlton, the woman who brought you tea and meals at the residence. She thought you would like to know. You see, not everything is lost.” He said softly.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes…” she cried, close to tears for what she hoped was the last time today.

“You may call me Mycroft, Molly. It’s time you had something to eat and for us get on with it, don’t you think?” He extended his hand to her and helped her up from the bed.

She took his hand and thought she might like being friends with Mycroft Holmes, toxic or not.

 

Chapter 10

Mycroft took Molly on a quick tour of the fox hole including the small mess. He forced an MRE on her and she did not object despite the mushy consistency and bland flavor. Not really any worse than ramen night at home so she had no room to complain. Mycroft wrinkled his nose and sighed to be so put upon, but he ate as well. MRE’s were not the best but at least they were food and were quick to prepare. She would just pretend they were camping. The image of Mycroft Holmes camping decked out in shorts socks and sandals popped into her head and she almost laughed out loud. Quite the change from the residence but less isolating too. At least she could feel part of things here as long as Mycroft was willing to have her help.

Mycroft also introduced her to the four agents acting as their guard and security. They were young, burly men with serious eyes and a professional attitude. They snapped to attention when Mycroft had entered the room but relaxed slightly when he introduced Molly. She shyly shook each of their hands. Their names were Gavin, Jeremy, John and Brian and they would be bunked just across the hall.

Molly looked at Mycroft who lifted one eyebrow and explained “I thought it would be better if you and I stayed in the single bedroom. There are two beds and I thought you might feel a bit safer. I hope I have not been presumptuous. I assure you I meant nothing untoward.”

“Fine, that’s fine, and you are right; I would rather not be alone. I am sure it will be just fine. Fine, fine, fine…” she said, once again blushing to the roots of her hair. The three young men laughed, Mycroft looked affronted and the laughter abruptly died.

Molly laughed too, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. Mycroft gave her the ghost of a grin and the tension was broken. It must be tough to be thought of as the “ice man”, she thought. Maybe her presence here might humanize him a bit for his staff and break some of the tension of the investigation. She always found that human interaction was a good distraction from her often intense work at the morgue. It helped her think more clearly and often gave her mind the time to puzzle through to an elusive answer.

She spent the remainder of the day organizing the space while Mycroft and the boys, as she cheerfully thought of them, poured over computer data and made and answered calls and texts. Molly pulled everything from her bags to place them in the bureau in the bedroom. If they were going to be here for a while might as well settle in. Her belongings looked pitifully small to her but they were all she had now since her apartment was gone. She looked wistful as she thought of all of her photos and books and art; a whole life up in smoke. At least she had had the foresight to scan her family photos and critical paperwork a few months ago during a long weekend. She would begin again. She had lived through the black hole of losing Sherlock and she would live through this as well. Clean slate, new life? They were just things after all. Her friends were still alive, Sherlock was still alive and Mycroft would keep her safe. She was lucky in an undecidedly unlucky way. If only other people had not been killed and hurt. She would feel guilty about that for the remainder of her life.

She upended her tote and surprisingly, the pre-paid cell from the residence bounced out on the bed. She must have packed it by mistake when she couldn’t find Toby. She picked up the phone and went to Mycroft in the bunker office. “I found the phone you gave to me. Do you need it for anything?"

“Excellent”, said Mycroft, “just what is needed as a fail-safe. This phone has an emergency GPS beacon that can be activated by entering in my initials or your initials, oddly enough, that will be heard and can be tracked by my people as well as the police. Now, where to put it?”

He gestured for her to follow him as he surveyed the room layout and the approached a bump out in the hallway wall that appeared to be a utility space for heating and cooling given the presence of a ceiling vent just above it. His fingers searched the edge of a wooden molding and suddenly there was a soft click and a tightly fitted panel popped opened. He gestured for her to crouch and look inside.

“This access way leads to a nearby tube station and opens into a small locker niche just off the main platform. If anything happens and the bunker is breached, I am counting on you to reach this space, activate the beacon and escape. I will put the phone just here. It is still fully charged and easily seen. I will count on you to do nothing foolish and follow my instructions to the letter should anything happen. It is critical to me that you get out and to safety as soon as possible. I will not have you hurt again.” He looked at her sternly, closed the hidden door and Molly nodded meekly. She had had plenty of heroics in the past week thank you very much.

Dinner, such as it was, was consumed and Gavin and Jeremy went to bed while Brian and John took the first watch. Molly and Mycroft stayed up for a while, playing a very one sided game of chess. Finally, Molly started to yawn and Mycroft told her it was time to turn in. Her nerves sang at the thought of getting ready for bed but it turned out for less stressful than she thought it would. They simply entered the bedroom leaving the door slightly ajar, he briefly squeezed her hand, said goodnight, turned out the overhead light took off his vest and shoes and went to bed. She followed suit, was relieved it had not been more awkward and was almost instantly asleep.

 

Chapter 11

Mycroft awoke sometime later to the sound of Molly weeping and muttering in her sleep. She was thrashing lightly and whatever her dreams they were obviously disturbing. She had seemed fine earlier but her fears and anxieties had found her. Should he get up or should he wait to see if the dream passed? He felt for her, she had been through hell this week and had held up remarkably well in spite of her injury and shock.

The choice was made when she let loose with a short scream and called his name. He was at her side in a moment, shaking her gently. “Molly, wake up, you are dreaming. Wake up, my dear.”

There was a stirring from the hall as one of the guards approached to check out the noise. “Go back to your post, just a nightmare. I have it handled.”

Molly woke from her dream to Mycroft’s voice. She sat up, looked at him and was instantly in his arms. “You were dead, so was Sherlock. So much blood… She came after me and I ran but I could not get to the fail safe. She had a gun and she held it to my head and…”

Mycroft held her and rocked her gently. “Shush, shush now, it was just a dream. I am alive and you are alive and Sherlock is alive. I won’t let anything happen to you. You are safe. You are safe. It was just a dream, I’m here.”

Molly relaxed into him and he gently stroked her hair.“Stay” she said, “Please stay with me.”

He sighed, nodding his assent and they both lay down together just as they had this afternoon. “Thank you, Mycroft.” She said softly and snuggled into his side. He said nothing in return but gently kissed her forehead. Soon Molly was asleep but Mycroft was still awake and thinking. This small woman had come to mean something to him over the past few days. He had tried to push her away and had failed. Could it be that he wanted her in his life? Could it be that this ordinary woman; brave, foolish, Molly Hooper had gotten under his skin? He looked at the ceiling and sighed again. He had sighed more in the past few days than he had in ten years. He was no longer young and though he took his pleasures where he could with high end, carefully screened, discreet escorts or frustrated but thoroughly married society wives, he had wearied of the game. Maybe he did not need these cold, beautiful, brittle and neurasthenic women in his life. Maybe there could be something more for him than empty sex and a lonely house. Perhaps he was holding that something now; the ordinary, silly, devoted and loyal Molly Hooper. Perhaps when this was all over he would present his suit and see if she wanted to try. Such an experiment would make him vulnerable but maybe it was time. No, it was past time and he had to try. He closed his eyes and sleep took him.

******

Mycroft shot awake. Something was not right. An unusual noise had come to him from the far end of the bunker. His mind, now fully awake, identified the soft thwack of a silencer. There had been a breach; there were intruders in the fox hole. He put his hand over Molly’s mouth and quickly shook her awake. He raised his eyebrows and gestured at the hallway. She nodded her head, he took his hand away from her mouth and she quickly slipped from the bed, looking back at him, eyes huge. He flicked his hand for her to go and she slipped out the door, barely visible in the dim light. He hoped she would make it to the phone and the escape passage in time. He dropped to the floor, keyed the GPS beacon on his cell phone. He had never needed Molly to use the pre-paid phone to sound the alarm. He had always had it in his power to trigger the beacon himself. He had just wanted her safe and out of the fray. He hoped he would forgive him for his lie and that even now she was safely on her way to freedom.

Suddenly all hell broke loose in the hall and the door to the bedroom was flung open. Three figures entered dragging a fourth. The intruders were dressed in black and masked. Two carried semi-automatic weapons with silencers. The bright overhead light was flicked on and Mycroft’s heart seized as he saw Molly on the floor at their feet. She was bleeding from a cut on her forehead and one eye was swollen shut. She looked steadily at him, blinked slowly and he instantly understood that she had triggered the beacon but had been caught in the act or had openly defied his instructions. He hoped for her sake that it was the former not the latter and that the beacons had worked and help was on the way.

“Well, Mycroft, what do we have here? Have you adopted a mouse to be your boon companion? Pity she is so small and soft.” Slipping the mask off over her head, she shook a mane of silvery gold hair free. She smiled coldly at him and kicked Molly Hooper hard in the side. Molly moaned and Mycroft leapt to his feet, shocked with sudden understanding dawning in his eyes.

 

Chapter 12

From her position on the floor, Molly looked at the woman. She was beautiful; finely chiseled features, crystalline blue eyes with a gleaming fall of pale blonde hair. Tall, nearly as tall as Mycroft, with a toned and athletic body, she exuded privilege. However, there was no warmth in her eyes and there was something deeply wrong with her. Her eyes glittered oddly in her head and Molly thought she might have some sort of mental illness. One of the men frisked Mycroft and stood next to him, gun at the ready. Molly glanced at Mycroft and his eyes confirmed what she had surmised. Beautiful, unpredictable and dangerous with no empathy whatsoever.

“Surprised to see me here, my darling? What a fool you have been. You ruined me but I still had enough funds to pull this little drama off right under your supercilious nose. Pity those idiots I sent to erase your pitiful life were so inept and shot Miss Mouse here instead. But, to be honest this new layer of vulnerable adds a bit of spice to the game, does it not? I tried to take her out quickly so it would just be you and me but you went all chivalrous and had to make sure she got home all right. Good Christ, Mycroft, you should know better. Burning her ugly, working class flat to the ground was even more fun. People you love tend to die, don’t they? Look at what happened to your dear, crazy, drug addled brother. You couldn’t save him and you will not be able to save this choice morsel either”She pulled Molly’s head back by her braid and slapped her, hard enough to snap her head back against the wall.

Mycroft winced and Molly again slid down to the floor trying to look as small and harmless as possible.

“Your people are dead, Mycroft, victims of a sloppy alarm system, budget cuts and your stupid pride. My dear sweet husband loved this place, perfect for his kind of boring perversions and he showed me the weak points of this little fortress, the besotted idiot. Yes, they are dead; all four of those sweet, young monsters you recruited to guard you. Do you know why? Should we tell Miss Mouse a little story about Mycroft and Maeve, kinky games in the dark and a far from happy ending? Is that what you envision with this little nothing of a creature? A happy ending? Mycroft and Molly Mouse, a bull pup and a home in the country? Oh, how quaint and impossible. What could she possibly want with a monster like you?”

“Want to know how I did it? It was so simple in the end and you never figured it out. I knew you were leaving me and during our last little game I implanted a tracking chip in your back during a more strenuous and intense moment.” She came up to him, slid one thigh between his legs and pressed her pelvis to his. “Very tiny and you felt nothing but what I wanted you to feel.” She rotated her pelvis suggestively and Mycroft raised his chin and looked away from her, his face a tight mask. “I have tracked you ever since. You checked your cars, your phones and your bolt holes never knowing it was your own body that was betraying you. Just as the dark side of your nature drew you to me, it undid you in the end. What a fitting comeuppance for such a pitiful shell of a man.” She withdrew and turned her back on him.

“How charmingly perverse of you but Miss Hooper has nothing to do with us. Stop, Maeve, let her go. This is between you and me. Let her go and you and I can end this together.”

“Oh, I think not, my love. I will release her into darkness but only after she understands what a depraved and heartless monster you really are. Letting her go is not an option. You will both die today. First her while you get to watch. Perhaps I should strip her naked and have my boys play a bit with her first? They like it rough. You could always have sloppy seconds before I put a bullet through your brain. Would you like that?”

Mycroft looked at Molly who looked away quickly and put her head down. This was not good at all. “Oooo, Mycroft, look at that. A little trouble in paradise? So sad for you.”

“So, Molly Mouse’ she said squatting down in front of the pathologist, “I am Maeve, late of an exclusive parliamentary marriage and a far more stimulating affair with Mycroft Holmes. He took me, twisted me, fed my appetites and then cut me off. I will not be cut off! My husband divorced me, my finances collapsed and that bastard did nothing. I pleaded, I begged and he did nothing!”

“It’s his fault you know, all your pain and all those dead people. You can blame him for all this misery; not a terrorist, not a criminal mastermind but simply a woman scorned. Hubris, Mycroft, hubris: _mischief definitely not manage_ d!” she smiled forbiddingly.

She walked up to Mycroft again and slapped him, cutting open his face with her ring. “You used to beg me for that, Mycroft, how does it feel now?” She gestured to one of her companions. “Hold him”. The younger man approached Mycroft and quickly pinned his arms behind his back. Maeve approached and lovingly stroked him through his pants and then twisted violently. He lifted his chin and his nostrils flared in pain but he was silent. “You will beg to die, I promise you.”

She whirled around and looked at Molly and smiled. “He likes to be dominated. He likes it dark and twisted and painful. He wants a wolf not a mouse. Could you do that for him? Little girl with small breasts, small mind and no darkness in you? I think not and he would be sooo disappointed.”

“Get her to her feet” she barked, “Time to have some fun with Miss Mouse. We’ll all get to see what Mycroft wants before we destroy it.”

Molly struggled as Maeve approached her and felt a hot fury rising. “It was you who had me shot, it was you who killed the driver, and it was you who burned down my apartment. You are insane!”

“You are correct, little girl” she said as she slid out a knife. “He betrayed me and he has to pay. Too bad for you that you cared enough to save his sorry carcass. Now you have to pay too.”

Maeve reached out and ripped Molly’s tunic from top to bottom exposing her bra and the injury on her side. She flicked the knife through the center section of the bra and exposed Molly’s breasts. Molly made a small and panicky sound as Maeve reached out with the tip of her knife and drew a fine cut down the side of one breast. Blood rose, Maeve smiled and Mycroft made a grunting sound and struggled to free himself. “Oh, this will be sooo good” Maeve said as she leaned forward and licked the blood from the wound.

“Tasty and we are just getting started. Maybe I will play with you instead. I think I want to be between your legs as my boys strangle you. Yum, yum…” She reached down and palmed Molly’s sex. “You like this, Mycroft? Is this turning you on? You get to watch. She is just soooo sweet…”

“Please Maeve, I beg of you, please let her go. She means nothing to me. I used her like I used you as the means to an end but she is innocent of wrongdoing. She didn’t hurt you, I hurt you. Let her go and take me instead. Please…”

Molly cut her eyes at Mycroft. If he was lying he was very good and she couldn’t help but feel hurt at his harsh words.

“Why Mycroft” she purred, her voice rising, “it appears that you LOVE Miss Mouse. You should have loved ME! Well, if that is the case, her death will be even more pleasurable.” Tears running down her cheeks, Maeve shrieked, raised the knife and turned just as Molly bucked wildly and broke free of her captor. She tackled Maeve, the knife clattering to the ground. There was a controlled commotion in the hall. The man that had been holding Molly suddenly stiffened and dropped, a bullet through his head. Mycroft wrenched himself from the others grip, and threw himself on the ground just as his captor’s head exploded.

Molly lay on her side on the floor, hurt and disoriented. Love? Did she say love?

“Get her, get her” Mycroft cried to his men and gestured towards Maeve as he crawled to try to reach Molly.

Maeve laughed crazily, “I’ll see you in hell Mycroft. I ‘ll keep the cuffs warm for you.” She then calmly raised her gun and shot herself through the head, falling at Molly’s feet in a splatter of blood and brains.

Molly’s self-control finally broke and she wretched on the floor making low distressed sounds in her throat. Mycroft was at her side in moments on his knees in the blood, reaching out to touch her.

Molly shrank from him as he tried to take her in his arms. “I can’t, I just can’t…” she cried and she rolled herself up in a small ball on the floor and went far away.

 

Chapter 13

Mycroft stood alone in the carnage of the fox hole. The bodies of his four agents had been removed and a subdued Anthea had knelt next to Molly, talking softly to her and eventually convincing her to move. She wrapped Molly in a blanket, covering her nakedness and injuries, cast him a sympathetic glance and they were gone. Molly said nothing and did not even spare him a glance. She had saved them once again but he did not think she had enough compassion to ever speak to him again.

His face was bleeding and his once pristine grey suit was spotted with gore, the knees stiff with blood from when he had knelt next to Molly and she had rejected him. All those people dead, millions of pounds of property destruction and all because he chose to indulge himself with the wrong woman. Self-loathing rose in him like a dark wave. It was his fault. His weaknesses had caused all this and these deaths. He would resign effective immediately after he cleaned up the collateral damage of this mess. Let younger and fresher sharks take on the game. He was done; time to retire to the country and assess what to do with the rest of his life and leave this bloody nightmare behind. Molly would never want to see him again, he was sure of that. He would have Anthea update her on Sherlock by secure text and leave her in peace. He was toxic and she deserved better. His faced dropped into his hands and he mourned alone for all that had been lost.

********

Molly woke up in the residence. She was in the same room but the hospital bed had been removed and a king size bed was in its place. She barely remembered the trip here, Anthea softly talking to her and holding her hand as the tears finally came and dripped slowly down her cheeks. The same doctor that had treated her the previous week cleaned up her cuts and examined her stitches and assessed her for internal bleeding. He looked disapprovingly at her shredded clothes and shook his head in sympathy. Mrs. Carlton had helped her remove the bloody rags and she was now dressed in simple robe. He gently examined her, murmuring encouraging words that she barely heard. There was no internal bleeding and though the stitches in her gunshot wound had been stressed, they had not broken. She would feel like hell for the next ten days but there was no permanent damage, physically at least. She nodded to him, whispered a thank you and let Mrs. Carlton take her upstairs.

She had been in her room for days and her one joy had been Toby. He had been delighted to see her again and had refused to leave her side, except to eat and occasionally sleep in Mycroft’s room. When he leapt up on the bed her first day back, she had clutched him to her and wet his head with violent tears. Of Mycroft, there had been no sign. Anthea had stopped by to visit but there had not been much to say and she had not been back. Molly thought about going out in the garden but it was just too much and she let the idea go. Except for fresh flowers at her bedside every morning, the days spun out unchanging.

Anthea approached her on the fifth day of her recovery. The British government had covered for her at work and her mother and friends had all been told that she had been in a car wreck on her way back from the fabricated conference and was now recovering in north England near the Scottish border. She was also recovering from the loss of her flat and would return to London soon. Suspicious and upset, they had bought the story but were not happy. More of a mess to clean up when she got out of here, Molly thought.

Anthea told her a new flat in a similar neighborhood had been arranged for her and the lease paid up for one year in advance. It was in a good location and much closer to Bart’s. Molly had been supplied with a new cell phone and was free to call or text anyone she wished. She objected to the expense but Anthea cut her off.

“You will need the financial respite to re-furnish your flat and buy some clothes. You are a bit light right now, you know…” she said, smiling at her. Molly nodded and once again, decided to let it go.

Finally, it was her last day at the residence and it was time to go to her new home. Mrs. Carlton had packed her a small bag of essentials but otherwise all she had were the clothes she stood up in, the contents of her leather bag and Toby. She lovingly picked up the sandalwood soap in her lavatory and inhaled deeply of its seductive spice but left it behind this time. No use being sentimental over something that could never be. She turned her back and went downstairs.

Anthea, Mrs. Carlton and the staff were waiting for her and pressed a bag of fresh scones and a selection of teas into her hands. Even Toby had received a bag of treats. He had been quite the star at the residence and Molly had even caught the perfect Anthea brushing orange hair from her skirt.

She received a brief hug from all, even Anthea who whispered in her ear, “Please forgive him. He is a good man. Complicated and difficult, but good. He cares a great deal and wants nothing but the best for you.” Molly looked at Anthea and hers eyes welled up. “I know.” she said simply and got into the black car and was gone.

 

Chapter 14

Her new flat was a bit newer and bigger than her old one, with a small guest bedroom and a powder room in addition to her main lavatory. He had chosen well. A bit better than her last flat but close enough in style to not make her uncomfortable. It had been built in the 1920’s and still retained the flavor of that era though it had been updated quite well. No more leaky taps and drafty windows. Good family oriented neighborhood, quiet and close to work. She loved the large front box bay window with a window seat that allowed her to read and watch the play of light and shadow on the historic buildings across the street.

Anthea had been correct and it had taken a sizable portion of her savings to re-furnish her apartment and buy new clothes. The day she and Toby arrived there had been nothing in the flat except for a comfortable lounge chair in a deep charcoal plush, her bed from the residence, resplendent in its grey and amber embroidered coverlet and a crystal vase filled with white roses. No note, but she knew who had been thoughtful enough to provide her with these small comforts.

Her clothes were more sober now too though she still had a predilection for pink, it now trended more towards shell than bubble gum, and she tried to buy more natural fiber items with classic lines. She loved her new moss green cashmere sweater and when she wore it she thought of Mycroft in his dark grey sweater the first night she spent at the residence. She stroked her hand down the fine fabric skimming her body, closed her eyes and tried to imagine his hands on her instead of her own. Oh dear…

Since then, she had once more filled her space with books and art and her furniture was an eclectic mix of modern and antique. She was more selective now and her flat was less cluttered and more open.

She had made things up to her mother, her friends had been glad to see her though they were shocked at her then faded bruises. She and Tom had had a spectacular fight centering on her “obsession” with the brothers Holmes and decided not to see each other again. Just as well as her heart hurt and her mind kept straying back to a pair of steely blue eyes. Her body healed; her spirit too but she was quieter than before and still lonely. The dreams still came but they were fewer and far between. She was healing but still damaged. Maeve had taken something from Molly as well as before she went into the darkness.

Work was fine and her colleagues had lapsed back into their old treatment of her. When she had arrived back at the morgue that first day, bruises fading but still very much in evidence, they had treated her like fine china for days. She was glad that was over. The bruising was soon gone and her gunshot would had healed cleanly with little residual scarring. She had received a few updates from Anthea regarding Sherlock but they were brief and light on details.

She thought of Mycroft almost constantly. His face, once so cold and unappealing, had become the one face she most wanted and feared to see. Funny to think how she had been infatuated with the younger Holmes and was now in love with his older brother. Yes, she loved Mycroft but knew it might not be enough. He was difficult and guarded and though he had shown her great care and kindness he had also pushed her away and cut her with his coldness. He had left her in peace these past three months and the summer in London was turning once more to fall. The tourists were thinning out and soon her beloved city would see the first winds of winter.

She called Anthea is early November. “I need to speak to Mycroft, Is he there? Molly asked. There was a silence on the phone and then Anthea surprised her. “Mr. Holmes is no longer with the British Government, Molly, and is no longer in the city. He has retired to the Holmes estate in Surrey and is doing private consultation on government matters.”

Anthea paused and Molly asked, “Is he all right? Why did he retire?”

Anthea paused as if making up her mind. “Yes, he is as fine as can be expected given such a big change. He is alternately irascible and despondent though he would deny both. The incident took a lot out of him and he decided it was time. He has worked hard for many years at a job that would have killed a lesser person and the deaths have weighed on him. Would you like me to text you his address and phone number?”

“Yes, that would be very kind of you.” Molly hesitated and then asked, “Do you think it will be alright for me…”

Anthea interrupted her, laughing softly. “Yes, Molly, I am sure it will be all right. Just don’t let him chase you off. He has been suffering and needs a friend. I have tried to stay in touch but I am just not enough.”

“Thank you, Anthea, you have been very kind. Do you mind if I stay in touch with you? Receiving your texts regarding Sherlock is fine but I would like to be your friend too if you would let me.”

“That would be wonderful, Molly, but it has never been me sending those updates. Mycroft set it up to use my address and I got a new one. It has been him all along. He is still the crafty and manipulative devil he always was you know.” Moly was silent for and moment and Anthea continued, “Don’t worry, I was Cc’d on everything and you said nothing to embarrass yourself. I will send you my new number.”’

“Thanks again, Anthea. I think it’s time to pay our Mr. Holmes a little visit.”

 

Chapter 15

It was a lovely fall Friday with an autumn blue sky and Molly smiled as she kicked up leaves and made way towards the Holmes estate. The weather was just right for her new leather coat, brushed denim jeans and high boots. Low heels; she was going to the country after all. She had taken a long weekend and caught the train to Surrey that morning, anxious to see Mycroft again but fearful of his reception.

The hour train ride had calmed her somewhat but as she left the station to follow the GPS instructions her phone, her anxiety returned. Had she misunderstood his quiet intensity and care? Would he want her as a friend after all that had happened between them? She had thought often of that last horrible day and what Maeve had said about Mycroft. She might be walking into another fire; ice cold and fatal to her peace of mind. She re-adjusted her deep leather bag on her shoulder, took a deep breath and set off. I guess I am going to find out, she thought. I have a return ticket so if things go badly between us, I can always just leave.

She reached the end of the lane and approached a large closed gate. Beyond the gate was a track flanked by trees and there was a gleam of pale gold stone in the distance. She approached the gate and pushed the button on what she assumed was an intercom. She heard a buzz and looked up at a camera that had swiveled towards her. Some things never changed.

Nervously, she cleared her throat and looking from the camera to the speaker and back said, “Hello, uhh, my name is Molly Hooper and I am here to see Mycroft Holmes…uhh, please?” Well that had gone stunningly well, she had sounded like a babbling idiot. Molly colored but stood her ground.

There was no response from the metal box and Molly was relieved when the gate swung open silently, allowing her to pass. They closed just as silently behind her and she started up the gravel track dappled with sun and flickering shadows. She left the avenue of trees and got her first good look at the house: Georgian architecture, clean lines, and golden stone with white stone trim. As she neared the drive, a honey colored cocker spaniel came out to greet her, dancing around her feet until she stopped to pet her. Mycroft Holmes kept a dog? The house was large but not intimidating and less formal than she had expected. The Holmes clan obviously had money in spite of the fact that Sherlock often hit her up for coffee, pleading poverty. Poverty right, his bloody coat probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. The house was lovely set as is was on slight rise, highlighting the circular drive and its central garden.

The front door opened as she came up the drive and Mycroft stepped out from the entry onto the front terrace. He looked guarded and watchful but well and there was no sign of the violence inflicted on him that awful day. He was not smiling though and that concerned her. He was dressed like a country gentleman in a celadon green jacket and vest over corduroy slacks, his trademark pocket square matching his dark red tie. Some things are eternal, she thought. She smiled at him nervously and though he still did not smile back he raised one eyebrow in an arch greeting.

Someone had to be brave and in that instant Molly decided it was going to be her. She walked shyly up to him, dropped her bag and wrapped him in a silent embrace, hiding her face in the flat plane of his chest taking in his wonderful and familiar scent. He stiffened but slowly returned the embrace, tucking her head under his chin. She did not see his slight smile and his eyes closing as he held her. He felt so good and she closed her eyes and hummed softly, relishing the moment.

“Sorry, so sorry…” she said to his shirt front.

He cleared his throat and in a low, gravelly voice said, “I am the one who should be sorry. Won’t you come in, Miss Hooper?” He said extending his hand.

“Molly, remember?” Tears welling up in her eyes, “Oh Mycroft, I have missed you so much.”

“Don’t cry, my dear, there have been far too many tears.” He said, handing her his pocket square. “Come in and have tea. A good English tea can cure anything, they say. ” He smiled, took her hand and they crossed the threshold together.

 

Chapter 16

The interior of the house was old and friendly. The walls were a pale yellow that was both elegant and welcoming. The furniture was comfortable and though there were the requisite Mycroft art and antiques, the house was a far cry from the modern opulence of the residence. It felt peaceful and welcoming and invited you in like an old friend. Molly liked it very much.

“Let’s have tea in the library, it is at the back of the house and has lovely view.” Mycroft rang a small bell and Mrs. Carlton appeared from what Molly assumed was the kitchen.

“Miss Hooper, how lovely to see you!” she exclaimed, giving Molly a quick hug and checking out her red eyes and the pocket square and cutting a quick, stern look at Mycroft that spoke volumes. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Molly blushed. “Oh, never you mind him and his formal ways. How is that little devil, Toby? We have a little devil of our own now as I am sure you’ve noticed”

“Toby is just fine and still shedding like mad. It’s a good thing that black is not my color. Yes, the cocker is quite charming. I met her on the way up the drive. What is her name?” asked Molly.

Mycroft looked uncomfortable and Mrs. Carlton started to laugh. Molly looked quizzically between the two until Mrs. Carlton said with a grin, “Molly” “Oh, uhh, how nice…” said Molly, blushing again. “Good name for dog…” She looked at Mycroft, cut her eyes to Mrs. Carlton and burst out laughing. “I am flattered, I guess…”

“Mrs. Carlton, now that you two have had your charming reunion, would you please bring tea to the library in 20 minutes?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes” she said, winking at Molly.

“Oh, wait Mrs. Carlton, I brought something.” She reached into her deep bag and brought out a floral bag. “Would not mind putting these in water? It was a long way from London and I am sure they are thirsty.”

“Certainly, my dear, I will bring them to the library before I start the tea.” Mrs. Carlton turned and headed back to the kitchen.

“You have made quite the impression on Mrs. Carlton and the rest of my former staff. Even Anthea frets over you which is a rare thing indeed” Mycroft gently shook his head.

“Oh, that is so nice. They were so kind to me after…well, you know.” Molly looked uncomfortable, looked down and changed the subject. “How about you give me a short tour before we have tea?”

Mycroft noted her discomfort but said nothing. He extended his arm and she tucked hers into his as they ascended the broad stairs. The rest of the house was just as pleasant as the downstairs.

There were several moderately sized bedrooms on the second floor along a wide gallery and a central lavatory. The master had a private bath and a beautiful sitting area with a bow window looking down on a cottage style garden. Molly felt a wave of shyness as they toured his bedroom but did her best to hide it.

They descended the stairs and Mycroft finished the tour by showing her the kitchen, an office, a formal dining room and finally, the library.

The library was like dream come true to Molly. Floor to ceiling books, intimate reading niches, a sitting area with a fireplace and a sitting area that faced yet another bow window looking down an expansive lawn to the trees. “What a beautiful room” she sighed. Mycroft smiled, obviously pleased with her comment.

“It is my favorite room in the house and since I am mostly alone, I usually choose to dine in here as opposed to the dining room. It suits me.” He said simply. “Please sit down, Mrs. Carlton should be in the tea soon.”

Mycroft gestured to a set of chairs facing the window with a small table between them. Molly sat, gaze distracted by view and dropping her bag by her chair. She did not see Mycroft stop and then stare at the flowers. They were resplendent in an old Chinese vase. Mycroft’s face softened. “White tulips - forgiveness…” he whispered. Molly looked up at him, held his eye and slowly nodded.

A mysterious emotion chased across his face and was gone in an instant. “They are lovely and just what this room needed. Thank you, Molly.” They looked at each other and Mycroft was just about to speak again when Mrs. Carlton brought in the tea and scones.

“Such pretty tulips and out of season too. You must have been hard pressed to find them this time of year. Enjoy your tea.” she said and left them to their repast.

 

Chapter 17

Tea was pleasant and they talked about inconsequential things. Molly found out that Mrs. Carlton had been with the Holmes family for many years and had followed Mycroft back home to the family estate. He told her about the history of the house and grounds. She told him about her new flat and a bit about work. He spoke about his retirement that was really a misnomer as he still worked at least six hours a day via e-mail. Finally, he updated her on Sherlock and that he might be home within the next six to eight months. The hunt for the remainder of Moriarty’s network was going as well as it could and though Mycroft was worried about his little brother, no great harm had come to him so far. They were both aware that one topic remained unspoken but there was time to open that box later.

Molly relaxed and let herself smile and act like herself, all self-consciousness gone as she warmed up to him again. Mycroft watched her talk, enjoyed the animation in her face and her obvious delight in seeing him again. There would be a time for frank discussion later.

“The weather is wonderful and I was wondering if you might be up for walk around the estate? It’s not very large and there are good paths throughout.”

“Well, if you think this London girl is up to it, I would love to walk with you. I thought you hated legwork?”

“Very funny, Molly, I shall ignore your smart mouth for now but beware, retaliation can be hell.” She looked at him, eyes wide and he laughed. “There may be rain later so I suggest you change out that leather coat for an oil cloth. I think we have one that was left by the former caretaker that may just fit you. Also, although the sun is warm now, it may get colder as the sun goes down.”

“OK, we should bring an umbrella as well. Do you still have that monster you carried in London? If so, it should do nicely,” she quipped with a smile.

“Do not insult my umbrella. I am right fond of it and it has served me well for many years.”

“Well, you can’t go outside without it. You must keep up appearances as the country squire. We should take Molly as well as she looks like she would enjoy a romp. Shouldn’t be too confusing as long as you can keep us straight. What on earth were you thinking when you called her Molly?”

Mycroft’s face sobered. “Soon after I left London and moved out here, an old acquaintance of mine had a cocker bitch that had a litter. Mrs. Carlton thought it would be good to have a dog and against my better judgment, she convinced me to go have a look. This tiny ball of fur leapt out of the bunch and attacked my ankle and I just couldn’t resist her. I got to know her a bit and she was fearless, sweet and affectionate. I had no recourse but to call her Molly.” He smiled knowingly at Molly and she blushed. “Also,” he said, suddenly looking sad and avoiding her eyes, “I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again and I decided to be self-indulgent.”

“Oh, Mycroft… Stop it! Of course you were going to see me again. How could I live without at least one Holmes brother in my life? I am hopelessly addicted to both you and Sherlock now. Anyway, she is sweet and I think she would enjoy a walk so let’s go!”

Properly outfitted with oiled jackets, an umbrella and a ruck sack of bread and cheese, they went out the back door, whistled for Molly and went on their way.

The countryside was beautiful and soon Molly’s face was glowing from the brisk air and exercise. She threw sticks for the other Molly and all three had a lovely afternoon. They were heading back to the house when a sudden shower forced them, laughing, into an open sided shed out of the rain. Molly dog lay down to worry her stick and she and Mycroft sat companionably on a pair of hay bales watching the rain.

The silence was heavy between them until Mycroft spoke.“We should talk about what happened, you know. I realize that it will be difficult for us both but if we want to be friends there must be honesty between us.”

Molly was silent, watching him and nodded in agreement.

“It was my fault, everything was my fault. All those people dying, you getting hurt. I was blind to my actions, insensitive to my assignations and stupidly confident in my network and my abilities. No one could fool the great Mycroft Holmes who had every element of his life under tight control.” He said bitterly.

Molly reached out and took his hand in hers waiting for him to continue.

“I met her at some society affair. I was bored and had been without a woman for a long time. She was beautiful and dangerous and I thought we could spend the odd afternoon together now and then and both be satisfied. I realized early on that she had serious issues but it wasn’t until one night after sex when she struck me and drew blood without provocation that I realized that she might be mentally ill. I felt nothing for her and had thought she had felt nothing for me. I had always arranged these liaisons to be discreet, short lived and only about the physical release.”

Mycroft took a deep breath and rubbed his thumb across her fingers, not looking at her.

“I cut the affair short, paid her off and terminated all contact. Then one day she accosted me on the street. She was loud and acting irrational. I did the only thing I thought I could do and brought her to one of my bolt holes to try to talk reason to her. Once we were inside, she kissed me and started to tear at my clothes. I weakened and kissed her back. She started to undress me and fool that I was I let her. I came to my senses and pushed her away and she attacked me. It must have been then she implanted the tracking chip. I had had enough and used force to subdue her. She wept and pleaded, professing her love and groveling at my feet. I ignored her pleas, got her back to the car and dropped her in neutral location not far from her home. That’s the last time I saw before this spring. She called incessantly at first but I ignored her, sent back her mail unopened and changed my number. You know the rest of the sordid story”

Molly could feel the shame and regret coming off of him in waves.

“It was my fault. I thought I had the situation under control. I should have tried to get her some help instead of pushing her away. I had thought caring was not an advantage but if I had cared just a bit for her and tried help her, all of those people might still be alive. I was blind too. I was so sure that the threat was coming from the Moriarty network or some enemy of Sherlock, I ignored the personal connection. It was a fatal mistake on my part and I regret it deeply.”

He turned and looked at her. “You should have never tried to save me, Molly. You would have been so much better off if I had not waited to contact you that day. I resented you and what you did for Sherlock and I was blinded my own jealousy and my shallow perception of you. I really did think you didn’t matter and I am sorrier for that than anything else. You saved me, you saved us, and again, you turned out to be the most important person of all. I am so sorry, Molly. Sorry for discounting you, sorry for your injuries and sorry that I tried to drive you away.”

He looked away and Molly’s heart went out to this proud man who had humbled himself in front of her.

She rose and sat next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Mycroft, that woman killed those people, that woman hurt me, you didn’t. Yes, part of the blame is yours and you were cruel to me but you did not fire the gun, start the fire or wield the knife. You can’t control everything you know, you never could. I am glad that I was there to help you when you needed me.”

Molly looked out to the rain, now coming to an end. She sighed, more serious as she turned to him.

“It’s been a difficult year for me. First losing Sherlock and mourning him for months and then getting thrown into the situation with you that could have no good outcome. I chose to help you, Mycroft. I chose to stay with you even though it may have seemed to you that you were compelling me to do so. Don’t punish yourself so. Yes, there is darkness in you. Both you and Sherlock are difficult men. However, I truly believe that you are both good men; irritating gits, yes, but good men. My world would be much darker without the both of you. There can be no light without the shadows. I am the light and you are the dark, perhaps together we can achieve a balance of sorts?” She smiled gently at him disengaging her hand from his shoulder.

Molly rose, stretched and shook off the serious mood. “Enough said about that, it’s time we leave the past behind us and get on with it, don’t you think? I know I am silly and ordinary but Sherlock likes me and I hope that you have come to like me too. Maybe you think you don’t need friends but I do and I would like for you to think of me as such. We’ve been through a lot but we are both still here and there is time enough I hope to both forgive and start again. Let’s try, shall we?”

Mycroft looked at her thoughtfully, nodded but said nothing. What an interesting and surprising woman she was.

“Come on, Mycroft, the rain has almost stopped, it’s getting late and we should go back to the house. I have to think about getting on my way. Time to whistle up the dog and head back. I hope you heard what I said. I meant every word and would like you to think about it.” She smiled and offered him her hand.

Mycroft took her hand, rose and together with the dog dashing ahead; they walked back up the hill to the estate.

 

Chapter 18

They entered the house through the back door, leaving their coats hanging up in the mud room off of the kitchen. This country life was quite the pleasant break from London, Molly thought as she felt the effect of a long walk and fresh air on her body. She really needed to spend more time outdoors. Too much morgue and too much flat were not good for her. There were some lovely, wild parks in London and fall was only starting to come on. Decided, she would visit them soon and often before the weather got too cold, she thought as she made her way back to the library to collect her things. Mycroft followed her and she could tell he had something on his mind.

He stood in the door of the library looking at her but not looking at her. He was not ready to let her go just yet.

“Molly”, he said, smiling at her. “I realize that you may have commitments in town but it is getting late and I would really like you to stay. I am sure that Mrs. Carlton could come up with a few things for you to wear. She has a daughter about your size who visits at times. What do you say? Are you up for another day or two with this grumpy old man? I promise I will send you home by train or car on Sunday early enough for you to have a pleasant evening and get rested for work on Monday. What do you say?”

He looked so hopeful in a Mycroft way that she laughed. “Of course I will stay since you asked me. I came this far to see you and spend some time with you. Another day and evening would be grand as long as I don’t bore you silly. You are grumpy but tolerably so. Old? Not so much. No dwelling though, remember weekends are supposed to be fun. I will not tolerate dwelling.”

“So be it, no dwelling and moderate grumpiness only.” He said in mock seriousness. “I have a bit of work I have to do tomorrow morning but am otherwise free. Perhaps we could walk down to the village when I am done and have lunch at the pub? Would you like that?”

Molly grinned. “Want to show off your girl to the locals, hey? What will your mum think if such an outlandish tidbit gets back to her? Won’t your reputation as a hermit be tarnished forever?”

The look on Mycroft’s face was priceless. “I am just kidding, Mycroft. For goodness sake, friends kid each other. I was just teasing you know, don’t look so serious.”

“Oh, I know you were teasing but I just couldn’t help but think how pleased my mother would be to receive such news. She worries about Sherlock and me.” His face grew serious. “I suppose she is concerned about us being alone for the rest of our lives.”

Molly’s face softened and she gave up the game. “Well, Sherlock is collecting friends and you have at least one now, so you should tell her so she won’t worry so much. I am sure she just wants you to be happy or as happy as you can be given your inherent bristliness.” She poked him gently in the arm.

Mycroft laughed and went to talk to Mrs. Carlton about getting a room ready for Molly and perhaps arranging for some additional clothing to get her though the weekend. Molly took the time to call her neighbor to feed Toby.

Mrs. Carlton looked approvingly at him. “I am glad she has decided to stay and I will see what I can find her in the way of clothes. She is fine girl, sir. She has a good and giving heart. You be decent to her now and no more of your dark thoughts. She likes you. Don’t be daft and do anything to drive her away again.”

Travel and weekend plans settled, Molly and Mycroft had a quiet dinner in the library accompanied by a good wine with a warm, spicy liqueur to finish. They talked for a while and then took up their respective books and sat in silence as a fire crackled in the fireplace and the evening advanced. They occasionally commented on what they were reading but otherwise the silence was broken only by the ticking of a box clock on the wall and the occasional fall of an ember in the fire. Their silence was comfortable and unstrained and soon Molly was yawning over her book.

“I think I had too much fresh air and exercise today. Perhaps it’s time for us to turn in?” She rose, yawned again and stretched luxuriously. “I haven’t been this relaxed in months and it feels grand.”

Mycroft nodded, rose, banked the fire and closed the screen and doused the lights. He and Molly walked up the stairs and turned right. The gallery was dimly lit and the shadows were deep in the corners.

Mycroft opened the first door on the left. “Mrs. Carlton has made up this room for you and provided you with some necessities. It is my favorite aside from my own and I hope you will be comfortable. There is no lavatory attached but it is just there, right next door. I trust you find everything to your liking. My room is just at the end of the hall so I will be nearby. Sleep well, my dear.” Mycroft turned to go.

Molly reached out and took his hand, stopping him. She quietly stepped forward, rising up on her toes, giving him a gentle hug. His arms went around her and he hugged her back. “Good night, Mycroft” she whispered. He looked down at her, bent his head and lighted brushed her lips with hers. She smiled at him, a warm and happy smile. No nervousness, no tension, just happiness at being near him again. “Good night, Mycroft, sleep well. See you in the morning.” She stepped away from him, smiled once more and went into the bedroom.

Mycroft paused for a moment and reached out gently and soundlessly to lay his palm on the surface of her door. It was good to have her here, it was good she had forgiven him; it was good that the past had been laid to rest. He went to his quiet bedroom hoping fervently that someday she might choose not to leave.

 

Chapter 19

Molly woke, stretched and cuddled down into the duvet. Clear light was streaming through the window, softened by the ivory sheers. This room was so delightful, a small time capsule of chintz furniture and draperies with gold walls and white trim. It was early and the room was cool. She thought about yesterday and could not help smiling. It had gone much better than she thought it might and the elephant in the room was gone. She knew now that she and Mycroft could be friends and perhaps more? His chaste kiss last night had surprised her. His lips were soft and he smelled so good. She shook her head and laughed. Time to get out of bed before she started having wicked fantasies about her host.

Get up, use the loo and chase up some coffee or tea, she thought. She wondered if the rest of the household was up. She wrapped herself in the warm robe Mrs. Carlton had provided and stole out into the hall.

The lavatory was small but well appointed. She looked into the mirror and was surprised by the pink flush in her cheeks. A visit to the country was indeed a good thing if it made her look this good without makeup. Clear eyes, pink cheeks and no worry on her face. She could indeed get used to feeling this good. Stop grinning like an idiot Molly, she told herself, as she went back to her bedroom to dress.

She put on her jeans and a soft, ivory cabled jumper than Mrs. Carlton had provided. It was wee bit big but had enough room to accommodate her silk turtleneck underneath. She quickly straightened the coverlet, pulled on her boots and went downstairs to seek coffee, companionship and sustenance.

She poked her head into the kitchen and greeted Mrs. Carlton. “Good morning, I was hoping for some coffee if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, my dear. Mr. Mycroft has been up for a while and is reading the papers in the library. I am sure he will be happy to have you join him. I will bring the coffee along in a bit, there is tea and a selection of scones there already.” she said, stopping to fill a coffee maker. “It is so good to see, you Miss. He has been a right bear for months blaming himself for your troubles. Bless you for taking the initiative to come out here. He has let a least a part of it go and I can see the change in him already. Thank you; you have eased my worry over him.”

Tears pricked in Molly’s eyes and she gave the older woman a hug. “I am so glad to be here and I promise I will not be stranger from now on. Now stop or we shall both cry and Mycroft will think we have both gone mad. He is outnumbered by females as it is and can probably take only so much of women weeping over him.” Mrs. Carlton laughed and wiped her eyes. “So right, can’t have him thinking that we care about him. Get on with you, Miss, I will have the coffee out to you in a jiff.”

Molly was smiling as she made her way to the library. She paused in the doorway and studied Mycroft at his papers. He sat facing the window, cup of tea at his elbow and a blizzard of papers at his feet. Looking up, he saw her, smiled and rose to his feet.

He did look happy; as happy and calm as she had ever seen him. She walked quickly up to him, went up on her toes and quickly kissed him on the cheek, coloring slightly. “Good morning” she murmured, turning to take a scone from the tray and sitting down.

Mycroft poured her some tea and studied her as she fixed it to her liking. She was happy but some of her natural shyness had returned overnight. Curious… Christ, she was glowing, had his company done that to her or was he looking at her with new eyes? Why had he never noticed how fresh and young she looked? She met his gaze and said “Mrs. Carlton is making me some coffee as I must admit I need it to feel fully functional in the morning but starting with some tea is a grand idea. Thank you.”

He cocked his head, studied her for a moment and said in a patient voice “Have you two been waxing sentimental over me in the kitchen? If so, desist. Since yesterday I have decided to live so you two may stop worrying, please?” He smiled wickedly and she laughed, sharing the joke.

“Oh, stop deducing me, and I can wax sentimental over you if I choose. Our new collaboration will require some give and take on both of our parts. I am sure there will be some behaviors and habits that will make us both crazy. Friends tolerate these differences. For example, I love musicals…” She paused and as expected, he rolled his eyes and shook his head resignedly.

“You and mummy” Mycroft snorted “remind me the next time my parents want to see a first run London musical, to call you up to take them. Sherlock and I can then smoke and snark in peace and make fun of you all in your absentia.”

“Mycroft…” she purred, narrowing her eyes at him and looking mischievous, “Are you making fun of me and my harmless love of musicals? Such an affront will not be tolerated!” She rose quickly and before he could react she dropped into lap, papers crinkling merrily and his tea nearly upset. She threw her arms around his neck, leaned close and whispered in his ear. “You are so funny…” He was startled to suddenly find his lap filled with the small pathologist, her breath warm in his ear but before he could respond, Mrs. Carlton came in with the coffee. Her eyes went wide at the scene; papers scattered and Mycroft Holmes with the small woman in his lap. Two heads swiveled towards her in tandem; Molly looking embarrassed and Mycroft looking extremely pleased with himself.

Molly shot out of his lap like a spring and promptly turned bright red. Mycroft finally too had the good grace to look embarrassed. Mrs. Carlton looked oddly at them both, shook her head, set done the coffee and left the room.

They looked at each and both burst out laughing. Molly fell into her chair, laughing so hard that tears ran down her face. “Oh, my” she gasped breathlessly as the laughing fit subsided. “That was epic! Poor Mrs. Carlton, she may never recover!” The thought brought a fresh wave of laughter and she struggled to get control of herself.

Mycroft grinned at her and shook his head. “She will recover and is probably re-running the spectacle in her head even as we speak. She will save up her honest opinion of my shocking behavior for the next time I irritate her. “

“OK, enough” she said, panting. “Tell her I attacked you….Anyway, time for me to have coffee and you to get to work. I think we have scandalized the household enough for the time being.” She approached him and squeezed his hand. “I think I will read for a while and eat another scone. What time do you want to head into the village for lunch?”

Mycroft popped a very, lord-of-manor pocket watch out of pocket and said “How does 11:30 sound to you? That will give us enough time to walk down to the pub, have lunch and walk around the village for a bit. More people to scandalize… My reputation will definitely be ruined with the locals.”

She smiled, settled in her chair, picked up her book from where she had tucked it into the cushion the night before and sipped her coffee. “Sounds like a plan. Come fetch me when you are finished with work.”

He walked past her, reaching out briefly to ruffle her hair “See you in a bit. Enjoy your book.”

 

Chapter 20

Mycroft returned to the library to find Molly dozing, her feet tucked up beneath her and her book on her lap. He gently cleared his throat and she woke, blinking in his direction.

“Hi Mycroft, I must have nodded off. This country air is proving to be quite the soporific.” She stretched and rose from the chair, her book dropping to the floor. “Are you ready to go?”

He nodded his assent. “I will fetch my coat and wait for you on the front terrace. Molly will have to stay behind today, I’m afraid.”

“All right, we can always take her out briefly later. Give me a few minutes and I will be right with you.” Molly dashed up the stairs, used the loo and gave her hair a quick brush in the mirror before dashing back down the stairs. She snagged her coat from the mudroom and joined Mycroft on the terrace.

He extended his arm, she took it and they walked chatting quietly down the wooded track to the gate. Mycroft triggered the gate and it swung open.

“Quite the fence and gate, Mycroft. Vestiges of your former life? I only saw one camera.”

“That is the only camera you will see, my dear, but trust me there are several scattered about the estate. Though I am less concerned these days with threats, Sherlock is still in the field and I may still have a few enemies lurking that have not been dealt with. Nothing to worry about, I am just being cautious.” He smiled at her reassuringly. It’s been quiet for months and I anticipate it will stay that way.

“Good, I have had enough excitement this past year to last a lifetime. Sometimes I think people don’t appreciate the delights of normal.” She kicked up some leaves and smiled at him.

They proceeded to the small village pub, ate a fine lunch under the not so subtle scrutiny of the natives and wandered down the street looking in the shop windows. Molly’s attention was caught by a small bronze sculpture of a sparrow in the window of the village gallery. Its head was cocked just so as if it was asking a question. She turned to Mycroft “Isn’t he just precious? Look at that expression…”

“Let’s go in and inquire after it.” said Mycroft. He swept in the door and before she knew she was the proud owner of a bronze sparrow which was now safely wrapped in tissue in a small box in her shoulder bag. She looked up at him with a soft expression on her face. “Thank you, that was very sweet of you, I will cherish him” and bumped him softly with her hip.

They spent the rest of the afternoon feeding ducks at the local pond, gazing at sheep in the meadows and cutting across country to get back to the gate. The sun was going down as they entered the mud room, removed their jackets and greeted Mrs. Carlton who was busy cooking dinner. Molly stopped to show off her new art and Mycroft excused himself to check on his e-mail. Mrs. Carlton poured her a cup of tea and chatted amiably while she worked.

“What did you think of our little village? A far cry from London but not as small as some.”

“It was nice. The people seemed friendly and it looks like there is a good selection of shops for such a small place. The gallery was lovely. Also, it’s not far from larger shopping areas so I imagine you could get most things for a household without ever setting foot in London. We certainly attracted enough good natured attention. Does Mycroft spend much time in the village?”

Mrs. Carlton paused and thought before speaking, “He almost never goes to the village and never, ever with a woman. I am sure tongues will be wagging and the news will be out all over the county by morning. Country life… Not much happens out here and so people are hungry for gossip. You may be assured your name will be known county wide within the week and speculation will be rampant as to Mr. Holmes’ future marital status.” Molly raised her eyebrows.

Mrs. Carlton sighed and poured Molly some more tea. “Many the local mothers have had their caps set on one of the Holmes boys as a son-in-law. Of course, just because they have shown no interest in pursuing a wife, doesn’t mean they never will. Hope springs eternal in the female breast. In spite of their peculiarities Mycroft and Sherlock are both considered quite the catches. Pfft! Silly women...”

Molly looked pensive and asked “If you don’t mind my asking, have there ever been in women in their lives?”

“Not to talk out of school but Mr. Sherlock never brought a girl home. Dead cats and dirt samples, yes, but a girl? Never. Mr. Mycroft brought a girl home for Christmas once when he was up at the university but the visit did not go well and she never returned.”

“That’s too bad, they both seem a bit lonely to me.”

“Oh, they are all right. Not everyone marries and even if one does, it may not last. I had 19 years with my John but he has been gone going on ten now. I miss him but he gave me many good years and a daughter and I am grateful for them both.”

“So sorry, I imagine you miss him sometimes”

“Yes, but my life is good and I love working for the Holmes family. They are odd ducks, but they are my odd ducks and I love them in my way. They certainly need looking after.”

“You should take your tea and go to the library for a bit. I will finish up here and dinner will be served in 30 minutes. And Molly, I have never seen Mycroft so happy. You have done him a world of good with your visit and though I know you have to go back to London tomorrow, I hope you will be a frequent visitor here. You will always have my welcome.”

Molly smiled. “Thank you Mrs. Carlton, that is very kind of you to say.

“Nonsense, girl! Now go find Mr. Mycroft and think nothing more of it.” She turned back to the stove and spoke “You may call me Emma, Miss Molly.”

 

Chapter 21

Dinner was once more a casual affair in the library and instead of reading after dinner, the chess set came out and Molly was once more thoroughly trounced by Mycroft’s superior skills. She pouted after her second devastating loss and as a consolation, Mycroft promised to give her a few lessons on her next visit. Molly beamed at him. There was to be a next visit. She thought she would be invited back but the offer of chess lessons cinched it for her.

They sat companionably after chess, sipping a smoky sweet liqueur and watching the fire die in the grate. There was a slight tension in the air but it was not unpleasant. They both knew what they wanted and now it was just a matter of the next, irrevocable step. The clock struck eleven and Mycroft stood and offered her his hand. She took it shyly and he pulled her close.

She laid her head on his chest and listened to his voice rumble in his chest. “I don’t want to let you go, you know. I had three months of hell missing you and though I know you must go back to London, I do not want you to go back without me telling you some things.” He gently stroked her hair.

“You know what a total ass I can be. I am touchy, sometimes ill-tempered and unused to showing affection. I have never loved a woman before but I think I am falling in love with you.” She stilled in his arms but said nothing,

“You do not have to answer me tonight but if you are willing, I would like to have a relationship with you. To clarify, a romantic and intimate relationship based on mutual trust, regard and care. I know my history may not inspire trust in you but I am willing to try in order to keep you in my life. I don’t want you to leave me, go back to London and look for another man like Tom. I don’t want you to moon after my misbegotten younger brother. I want you to want me and I am willing to make some changes to help make that happened. I have been alone too long and as odd as our pairing may appear to the outside world, I feel I have found my match in you. Will you have me?” He pulled back from her just enough to look down into her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat and she looked up at him, her eyes glowing. “Yes, I will have you.” She whispered.

He gently took her face into his hands and kissed her. Unlike the soft kisses of the past days, this kiss was warm and deep and filed with desire. Eye dilated, pulse and respiration rate galloping but not afraid, never afraid again. She kissed him back with abandon, pressing herself against him with a soft moan. She wanted this this strange, cool and lonely man, more than she had ever wanted a man before. It was relief to touch him, kiss him and lose herself in him. It was arousing and comforting at the same time.

“Shall we to bed then?” Molly whispered, blushing slightly at her boldness. “I want to go back to London a happy woman.”

Mycroft paused, let out a quick breath. “You’re sure? I don’t want to rush you.”

Molly laughed, “Rush me? I am practically seducing you, Mr. Holmes, much more satisfying than merely deducing you.” She smiled up at him teasingly.

Breaking their embrace, he took her hand and led her up the stairs stopping several times along the way to kiss her, touch her and nuzzle his nose into her hair. She relished his attention and unaccountably thought of her cashmere sweater and how much she wanted him to someday remove it from her. Her nostrils flared and she felt hot in her clothes.

They reached the door of his bedroom and he stopped and looked at her seriously in the shadowy gallery. “You can still change your mind. I would understand. We can take things slowly until you are ready. It would be difficult, if not impossible for me to stop, once we pass through this door. I will touch you, know you and you will be mine. _"License my roving hands, and let them go, behind, before, above, between, below_...." He whispered in her ear sending a delicious shiver up her spine.

He waited, silently patient until she shook her head taking away his last doubts, eyes wide but sure. “I’m ready; no more fail safes for us, Mycroft Holmes.” She whispered, kissing him again.

He opened the door and they slipped into the bedroom. The light of a waxing moon shining through the windows of gallery defined the space, empty now except for the delicate and sensuous pattern of light and shadow painting the walls.

 

Chapter 22

It was fall again and Molly was once again in the library of the Holmes estate, drinking tea and reading a book. It was a rainy afternoon and Mycroft had gone out with the other Molly and was due back in a few hours. Emma was working in the kitchen and the house was quiet except for the soft sound of rain on the roof.

Against all odds and expectations, she and Mycroft were still together. They had fast established a flexible routine with both of them traveling to see each other; one weekend in the country and one in the city. He had a selection of his things at her flat and she had the same at the estate. Her friends eventually found out with conflicting results. John Watson had been appalled, Lestrade worried for her and Mrs. Hudson strangely accepting and wishing her well. John and Greg would come around someday, she was sure.

It was not a perfect relationship; he could still be imperious and controlling at times and she could see that her optimism and trusting nature grated on him. They chafed over small things but worked through the issues with a modicum of stress. He supported her continuing work at Bart’s and she supported him keeping a hand in with the British government. They both were respectful of each other’s history and had made a mutual commitment to work towards a deeper intimacy and trust. The Holmes family had indeed heard rumors of her existence and she and Mycroft were invited for a visit in early summer. Mycroft was wary and oddly nervous but after Molly made fast friends with his mum and dad, he knew there was no going back. He would marry her as soon as she would have him.

Molly, unsuspecting of the plans and machinations of one Mycroft Holmes, sat blissfully unaware of the import of the day. She was reading a ripping good novel that she was sure that Mycroft would disapprove of. She sighed, one must occasionally have a break from the classics and there was nothing like an over-the top, hot romance novel to get a girl’s mind sparking. Other things sparking too, she thought bawdily to herself. She had no complaints. Mycroft was a gentle and practiced lover and alternately an aggressively sexual male bent on possessing her. She sailed along in the slip stream of his passion and was never afraid and never disappointed. They created a balance between the two of them that was steady, warm and always comfortable. She loved him with a steadfast heart as he loved her. Who knew that the cool, unapproachable Mycroft Holmes would one day be the love of her life? The reality of him still delighted and surprised her and she smiled when she heard his car in the drive.

On the younger Holmes front, Sherlock had finally finished his work on the continent and had returned to his beloved London. She had been at the estate when he burst through the door bellowing for Mycroft and sending Molly dog into a frenzy of barking. His face was study when he first saw the dog and then Molly emerging from the library.

“Sherlock!” she shrieked, launching herself at him and giving him a crushing hug. Tears ran down her face. “You great git! You and your dramatic entrances! I have missed you so much!” She drew back from him and looked at his beautiful face, thinner now and tired looking.

“You have no shoes on. What are you doing in my evil brother’s house with no shoes on? Mycroft! Mycroft! “ He yelled, “What have you done to my pathologist?” His eyes were drawn to Mycroft who, entering the room, walked up to Molly and draped his arm possessively around her shoulders making it perfectly clear to Sherlock what he had been doing with said pathologist. “Brother mine, there have been a few minor changes while you have been gone but you will adapt.” Sherlock’s eyes widen and then narrowed but he was for once, dead silent, assessing the potential damage.

Breaking from Molly, Mycroft walked up to Sherlock and embraced him. “Welcome home, little brother, behave yourself and you can stay for dinner and we will tell you the whole story.” Sherlock stiffened, arms rigid at his side and shot a panicky look at Molly over Mycroft’s shoulder. Molly mock scowled at him and pantomimed a hugging gesture while rolling her eyes at him. Sherlock’s arms awkwardly came up giving Mycroft the briefest of hugs. “Dear brother” he drawled “I do believe that you have finally gone round the bend. A woman and a dog? The British Empire may fall.”

Molly smiled to herself remembering that day. It took Sherlock some time to get used to she and Mycroft being together and though he delighted in teasing them and accusing them of using their obvious mutual affection to make his eyes bleed, Molly thought that he secretly approved. It was good to have him back and he was a fairly frequent visitor in between cases. He still pestered Molly at the morgue but since she no longer pined for him, any discomfort between them had evaporated and soon it was like he had never left, only better.

Mycroft entered the library, the dog following in his wake. Throwing down a bag and some papers, he kissed Molly soundly, and sat down on the settee and put his arm around her.

“It is pouring out there. The roads will be pure mud tomorrow. Aren’t you glad we aren’t going anywhere?” He leaned into her and nibbled at her ear. “I have plans for you, Miss Hooper. Dastardly plans involving good food, excellent wine and this.” He pulled a small blue velvet box from his vest pocket. Molly’s eyes widened and she was suddenly serious, her brown eyes wide as she met his steely blue ones.

He opened the box and a small but elegant art deco diamond ring glittered in the firelight. Mycroft, suddenly grave, cleared his throat. “Molly, you are my world. You, with your kind heart and generosity of spirit, have given me a great gift; an unexpected opportunity to love and to be loved in return. For a man such as I that is a rare and precious thing. I know I am in many ways unworthy of you but I love you deeply. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Her eyes filled as she gazed at this graceful, elegant, maddening man. “Yes, yes and yes…Oh Mycroft, I love you so.”

He placed the delicate ring on her small hand and turned it over to kiss her palm, her wrist, the crook of her elbow, the side of her neck and finally her lips. She looked at him steadily, eyes only for him. He pulled her close, leaned back and together fast in each other’s arms, they looked at fire and thought back to a bright day in spring that had held heartbreak and hope, dark and light and death and dreams.

_“And what do all the great words come to in the end, but that? -I love you – I am at rest with you – I have come home.”_

Dorothy L. Sayers, Busman’s Honeymoon


End file.
